Scarlet Letters
by wcgreen
Summary: IAB suspects that some of its agents are dirty and they draft the detectives of Manhattan SVU to serve as rat bait. Follows "Nine Days' Wonder" in the series. "Corrosive" follows; it's an Law & Order crossover
1. Uncertainty

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story follows "Nine Days' Wonder".

6 June  
SVU Squad Room

"It's prohibitively expensive to track down the millions of undocumented immigrants already here. That's why the government wants to insert RFID chips in the rest of us—we're all sheep happy to be led by our noses if it makes our lives easier and our taxes lower.

"Once we're chipped, get near a border with an implanted chip, you're scanned and nothing happens. Try it without a chip and ZZZZZZZZT! Drone aircraft fry you with their lasers."

John Munch leaned over his desk and wagged a finger at his partner.

"I'm telling you—Halliburton already has the contracts; it's only a matter of time…."

Fin didn't look up from the jacket he was reading.

"I know where I'd have 'em shove your chip."

His cell rang. Fin answered it, turning away from John in search of quiet. John spun his chair looking for new audiences. Elliot had the day off and Olivia was in court; that left Otten and Sofarelli, who were examining crime scene photos at their desks.

They must have coordinated their outfits today; both of them in dark blue suits and pale blue shirts. At least Couch doesn't have lace on his collar; otherwise, we'd never tell them apart.

"Hey, Brooklyn—you're an immigrant. What do you…."

Otten looked over her shoulder at him. "I was a U.S. citizen at birth, Pikesville."

She turned back to the photos and missed Munch's flinch at her answer. His silence, however, was noticed by her partner.

"Wow—you shut him down completely."

"Sauce for the goose," Judith said. "If he can't take it, he shouldn't dish it out. I still say something was removed from that wrist. See the way the sleeve has ridden up on the wrist? Do you think--"

Her cell phone chirped. She handed the photo to Couch and answered it.

At his desk, Munch leaned back in his chair and studied the air above Otten and Sofarelli's desks.

_She's supposed to get fed up and transfer out or retire, not fight back. If this is the way it's going to play…._

He glanced over at Cragen's office, making sure that the captain had not returned from his meeting at One Police Plaza. Questioning Otten already had attracted Olivia's attention….

"Uh, John—are you planning to buy Judith a negligee?"

A raised eyebrow and a small retch had not ended the conversation.

"Then you might consider quitting your interrogation before you get to her clothing sizes. It's getting old."

_Fortunately, my muttered "So's Otten" didn't reach Liv's ears. She'd have run to Cragen and tattled—females always stick together. Fin also doesn't like how I treat Otten—of course, she bribes him with muffins—and now I've got Liv on my back. I need to be more covert….but I also need to find out what else Otten dug up about me…._

John made a mug of tea and sauntered over to Otten's desk, the corner of which made a perfect rest for his rump.

"So, Detective Otten—have you been reading my jacket?"

She turned her wide blue eyes up to meet his. "No," she asked. "Why would I do that?"

Because you want me the hell out of here.

"Because I'm handsome and fascinating."

"Undoubtedly. No, I had dinner with an friend and your name came up. He told me that you were from Pikesville, were _on the job in Baltimore, then left it to come here. That's all."_

_That's all, my ass. Now you know you have seniority over me—NYPD doesn't count my time with Baltimore's finest. Who ratted me out?_

"Really? And who was your dinner companion?"

"Rey Curtis."

_Curtis? Yeah--young kid partnered with Lennie for the Jannaway, McBride, and Egan cases—oh, fuck, the Egan case. I spent that one awash in bourbon thanks to visions of Lennie and Gwen joined in orgiastic pleasure. I'll bet Curtis loved telling that story._

"Yes. I remember him. Didn't he leave the job because his wife was ill? I think Lennie said something about that."

Judith nodded. "Deborah has multiple sclerosis. She's in a wheelchair most of the time. Rey's now deputy chief of security at Williamsburg College—better hours and decent benefits. I'm sometimes jealous."

_Of the wheelchair or the bennies?_

"I'm sorry to hear that. Curtis was good to work with. I wouldn't have pegged you two for friends, though."

"Family connections—he was at the Three-Seven with one of my cousins and his daughter babysits for my son's girls. That's one good thing about being around for so long; you build quite a network of friends."

She shot him a swift glance through her eyelashes and paired it with a smug smile.

"Haven't you found it that way?"

_'Around for so long'? Don't give me that—you just transferred from Brooklyn; you're starting over the same way I did. I ran from bad marriages and broken dreams. What are you running from?_

"Friendships aren't built in a day. However, one grows old and if one stands still too long. You were in Brooklyn for how many decades?"

Her smile faded. Her stare went hard and straight at him. Munch returned it in kind from behind dark lenses.

The standoff was broken by a photo waved between their faces.

"How about an opinion?" Couch asked him. "Based on this photo, Judith thinks someone took something from the victim' s wrist. What do you think?"

John took the photo from Sofarelli and examined it thoroughly. He glanced at Otten.

_Damn it, she has good eyes. I could disagree with her—say that I don't see it. Some skel might go free, but the mistake would be hers; it's her case…._

He handed the photo back to Couch.

"Take a closer look, Al. See how the sleeve has risen up around the wrist? If the arm moved pre-mortem, or if it had been shoved post-mortem, then the sleeve would be pulled higher only where the arm was in contact with the pavement; friction drags it against the movement. But, if someone picked up the arm, wrapped their hand around the wrist and shoved the sleeve up, then the sleeve would rise evenly, exposing the wrist."

Couch ran his hand up his wrist, the first time wrapped around it, the second along the underside of his arm. He watched the action of his sleeve both times.

"You're right. It's a little thing…."

John glanced at Otten. "Perps catch the big things. It's the little ones that trip them up."

For his help, Otten gave John a slight nod.

_Yeah, I hate you, too._

6 June  
Council Room  
Saints Peter and Paul Roman Catholic Church  
Queens, NY

He wore a pair of cargo shorts, a faded blue surfer shirt and sneakers still sandy from a day at the beach with his children. He shared the room with an oblong oak table, fourteen padded chairs, a white board, a large crucifix, and a line of framed photos depicting priests who had served the parish.

_Hell of a way to end my day off—waiting for Captain Cragen to show up and explain why I'm here._

Elliot Stabler paced the length of the room past the photos: Father Aberthany, Father Phelan, Monsignor Anselmi, Father Ferrell, Father Doyle, Father Donovan—to the rear, march—Father Donovan, Father Doyle, Father Ferrell….

He stopped to address the line of photos.

"You may be wondering why I brought you all here…."

"Sure as shit I'm wondering."

Fin spoke from the open door. He was dressed as he had been at work—black chinos with an olive and black patterned shirt left untucked. He walked over to where Elliot was addressing the photos.

"Y'aren't planning to turn me Catholic, are you?"

"Nope." Elliot's smile was more smirk than grin. "We haven't forced a conversion in centuries. Besides, John called 'dibs' on you."

"No way I'm turning Jew. I hear they cut you even if you're already circumcised."

An involuntary spasm tightened Elliot's thighs and he was certain the look on his face matched Fin's sour grimace.

"Why?" he asked. "I mean, if there's nothing there to—to…."

"Nothing gets cut off."

Both men winced again as Judith Otten entered the room. A black leather shoulder bag was the only change to her work attire.

"What's required," she told the men, "is a drop of blood drawn by a _mo'el_. It proves that, if the man had a foreskin, he would undergo circumcision willingly."

"But," said Elliot, "it's still gotta hurt."

"Consider becoming a Reconstructionist Jew. We're less likely to require it."

Fin folded his arms and glared at her. "I'm not considering it at all."

Elliot grinned at him. "Then I'll tell Father Dunleavy you'll be joining his Catholic information class."

Fin's scowl was worth the tease, especially when Elliot noticed Otten's puzzlement.

"That's not why we're here, is it?" she asked.

"Cragen arranged this meeting, not me. Of course…." His lopsided grin was pure evil. "Cap's Catholic, too."

"I'm outta here."

Fin spun on his heel. Judith's gaze shifted between Elliot and the door.

"Okay, I'll stop jerking your chains. I didn't know anyone else was coming. I don't know why I'm here. Cap didn't tell me anything."

Elliot took a seat at the center of the table and motioned Judith and Fin to join him. "We'll have to wait and see what he says."

Judith looked at Fin and said, "If he's lying…."

"I'll shoot him with his own weapon; you write the suicide note."

Fin took the chair across to Elliot and smirked at him. Judith sat next to Elliot, a similar sly smile on her face.

"Watch yourself, Stabler," Fin added. "You're outnumbered."

Elliot grinned back, accepting the ribbing as only fair. They sat in silence for a while, Fin eyeing the photos behind Elliot while Judith examined the large crucifix hanging on the wall at the head of the table.

"What did Cap tell you guys?" Elliot asked.

Judith said, "Just to come here. He left in a hurry for the Puzzle Palace around 1 p.m. and called mid-afternoon on my cell."

"Same here," said Fin. "According to Chloe, the Chief told Cap'n to haul his ass downtown ASAP."

Elliot added those two bits of info to the message from Cragen on his cell phone—"Be at Peter and Paul's council room by 7 p.m." Knowing that both Fin and Judith were equally in the dark troubled him.

We're all here without our partners—why? Did the Chief of Detectives make that decision? Did Cragen sign off on it? I'll bet we won't like the answers or the reasons behind them.

The hairs on his neck prickled.

_Nothing against you, Judith, but I wish Liv were sitting in your chair._

He was about to say as much when Cragen came to the door, still in his suit and tie. The clench of his jaw and the fire in his eyes dared someone to cross him. Elliot heard a hiss, Judith drawing in a nervous breath, just as Fin whispered, "Dad's not mad—he's pissed."

_This may be worst than we thought._

"Hey, Cap." Elliot greeted him. "You gonna tell us what's going…."

Cragen stepped into the room and the rest of Elliot's sentence died on his tongue. Behind their captain stood three more men, two in expensive suits, one dressed off-the-rack and carrying a stack of folders.

_Oh, shit—we've got two chiefs and Ed Tucker, our favorite rat._


	2. Rats in Trouble

6 June  
Council Room of Saints Peter and Paul Roman Catholic Church

Captain Cragen caught the "Oh, shit" look on Elliot's face.

_And I completely agree…_

He waited until Elliot finished jumping to his feet, an action mirrored by Fin and Judith, before making the introductions.

"You all know Chief of Department Sullivan. Chief deMichelis is head of the Internal Affairs Bureau. Detective Otten, this is IAB Agent Sergeant Ed Tucker; the rest of us already know him."

_To know him isn't to love him…._

Chief Sullivan took the chair at the head of the table. He unbuttoned his jacket and smoothed his tie against his chest. Chief deMichelis took the chair on his right, angling his lean frame into it and sitting bolt upright. Tucker placed the folders between the two chiefs then sat at his superior's right, leaving two chairs between him and Fin. His brown suit's wrinkles were wrinkled, a sign of how long and bad his day had been.

_And it's not going to get any better…._

Cragen walked past Tucker to sit between him and Fin. As he was getting settled, Fin whispered, "What the hell is this, Cap'n?"

Cragen glanced at Fin, Judith, then Elliot.

_I see the suspicion and worry behind those poker faces._

"It's not as bad as you think."

His hushed reassurance only raised eyebrows.

_It's okay—I don't believe it, either. _

Chief Sullivan cleared his throat, waited a moment then began, his baritone voice enunciating each word with precision.

"Ten days ago, Officers Delgado and Henry were found dead at the American Inn on Flatbush Avenue. We released the causes of death as murder-suicide; Joseph Delgado shot his lover Karen Henry, then killed himself with his service weapon. Although no note was found, the reason for his actions was his affair with Officer Henry, either a lover's quarrel or fear of discovery."

Sullivan paused, his lips twisted as though tasting something nasty that he could neither spit out nor swallow. He and Chief deMichelis exchanged a glare; deMichelis broke away first.

"What I'm about to tell you and every thing else discussed at this meeting must go no further than the people here in this room—understand?"

He waited until the three SVU detectives acknowledged their agreement.

"We were wrong. Officers Delgado and Henry were murdered."

Three pairs of eyes widened. Chief Sullivan waited for questions that no one asked, then he continued.

"Detective Evon Skelton of Brooklyn South Homicide was the primary on the case. IAB took over the case and closed it, but he had suspicions about the crime scene and he continued the investigation on his own. Skelton took his findings to his CO, who went to Chief of Detectives Conrad, who brought it to me. I reviewed this case and then brought in Chief deMichelis."

Judith shifted in her chair and rested her chin on her left hand. Cragen noticed a big smile hidden behind her fingers.

_Her old unit made IAB look like idiots. I smiled about it, too. Didn't do me any good…._

Sullivan paused and Chief deMichelis took up the story.

"We examined the officers' lives, families, and finances to see who might have a motive to kill them. We found that both Henry and Delgado were making regular monthly withdrawals of $500 in cash on the same day with no record of where the money went. Last month, the amount jumped to $750."

Elliot let out a surprised hiss at the number. Cragen nodded in agreement.

_That's over 15 of take-home pay—some one had their hooks in deep._

"Neither officer had any outstanding loans, other than car loans and Delgado's mortgage; both lived within their means. Neither has a history of gambling, drug use, or any other activity that would require regular cash payments or that might open them up to blackmail threats. Their spouses are clean; their families are clean. Other than their affair, we found nothing. This leaves the possibility that they were being blackmailed because of their affair. When the monthly amount was raised, they refused to pay more and were killed."

Chief Sullivan added, "Since no one intentionally kills the golden goose, these murders probably served as an warning to others in the same circumstance. Our premise is that some person or persons has set up a blackmail scheme targeting NYPD personnel."

Chief deMichelis dropped his gaze to the table top and shook his head as if wishing he were elsewhere.

"It would be almost impossible for someone outside the department to run such a scheme," deMichelis said. "It would be very difficult for someone to run it from inside; there's always the chance that IAB would discover the affairs and then the blackmail. This leads me to a terrible conclusion: that the blackmail demands and the murders are the work of IAB agents."

Cragen's stern glance caught Elliot's and Judith's attention before they could speak. He was not fast enough to stop Fin.

"Crooked rats. Who'd of thought?"

Tucker turned to face Fin. "Go on and laugh, damn you—it isn't funny to us. We screen every one of our people and we watch them tighter than we watch you. With the hate coming at us from all sides, we can't afford even the slightest suspicion of corruption."

"Caesar's wife," Otten said.

Tucker shifted his attention to Judith. "Yeah, like Caesar's wife—we have to be more honest, more trustworthy, cleaner in thought, word, and deed than the fucking Boy Scouts. Knowing some of us are dirty—it just hurts."

He slumped back in his chair as if gut-punched, his pain stirring a tiny bit of pity for him with Cragen.

_How the might have fallen. Must be hard to learn that you're not all-powerful._

Chief Sullivan picked up where the IAB chief had left off.

"On my recommendation, Chief deMichelis and Sgt. Tucker checked IAB's records for any mention of Officers Delgado and Henry. They found nothing—no files, no situation reports, no signs that any misbehavior on their parts had been officially noticed. We feared that further investigation would attract the attention of any crooked agents so we considered other ways to…"

Chief deMichelis cut him off. "…to catch the skels who did this. I can't claim them as IAB, not if they bypass procedure, blackmail fellow officers, and then kill them."

Cragen watched the chief clench his fists and press them into the table top.

_Are you angry because your people are murderers or because they bypass procedure?_

Chief deMichelis continued to speak. "We decided on a sting run by outsiders, people who weren't IAB and who had the experience to head up such an operation. Chief Conrad and I devised a feasible scenario for the operation, then his assistant Denise ran through every unit and squad. Manhattan SVU was the only good match for the expertise and operatives required."

"This wasn't a sex crime. Why us?" Elliot asked.

Sullivan smiled. 'Because Detectives Tutuola and Otten have undercover experience, both as operatives and in heading up such operations. Because you are the lead detective for your unit and can allocate resources and cover for absences. Because Captain Cragen and Detective Otten will make excellent bait."

Cragen felt the breeze from three heads snapping around to stare gape-mouthed at him.

_Now you know why I'm furious. Nothing like being ordered to compromise myself with a subordinate, especially by a man I call 'friend.'_

"Under Sgt. Tucker's leadership, Captain Cragen and Detective Otten will attract IAB's attention while Stabler and Tutuola monitor their actions, record all communications with them and—if all goes well—draw out the blackmailers."

Identical smug smiles spread across the chiefs' faces at the unfolding of their plan. Even Tucker perked up. SVU's reaction was not as joyous. Fin's eyes narrowed until they almost folded in on themselves. Elliot worked his jaw side to side then clenched down like a pit bull on rawhide. Judith's face set hard and sharp, a look Cragen remembered Marge using on him during his drinking days.

" 'Attract IAB's attention'?" she said, her voice a sneer aimed at the Chief of Department. "That's a truly interesting way to say 'You will shred your reputation, squander your unit's respect, and gainsay everything you've ever taught your rookies and family.' Afterwards, do the crooked rats plead out, everything slides under the rug, and we all go back to normal?"

Cragen watched Chief Sullivan' s face redden from his starched collar to the tips of his ears.

Uh, Judith—you do realize this is an order, don't you? 

The Chief's gaze remained on Otten, but it lost focus as though he were deep in thought for a good five seconds. He then cleared his throat and gave Otten a politician's smile.

"No, nothing will be swept under the carpet. There will be full disclosure, a press conference…."

Both Chief deMichelis and Tucker shot upright in their seats.

"We agreed that there'd be no—"

Chief Sullivan cut deMichelis off with a wave of his hand.

"That would leave them with their reputations in tatters and no way to rebuild them. I won't do that to my people."

Elliot caught Cragen's attention and mouthed "Like hell."

"And I'll personally make sure," Chief Sullivan continued, "that anyone impacted by your and Donnie's involvement in this operation knows why—full disclosure on that count."

"That deal include me and Stabler?"

All the pent-up IAB rage and frustration that Chief Sullivan had waved away now shot straight at Fin. The detective ignored both Tucker and Chief' deMichelis' glares to stare directly at the Chief of Department.

"Why should it, Detective?" Chief Sullivan asked.

"Because my partner's not here. Stabler and Otten's partners aren't here, neither. That means we're gonna have to lie to them. I don't do that."

Fin crossed his arms and leaned back, his eyes narrowed as he glared at Chief Sullivan. Across the table, Elliot joined the rebellion.

"And I'm not putting my captain's safety in anyone else's hands. SVU runs this, not Tucker. He wants to advise and assist—fine, we can use his help—but we're in charge."

Elliot leaned his left arm on the table and joined his adamant glare to Judith's and Fin's.

Chief Sullivan met those glares for a moment, then leaned over to confer with Chief deMichelis, hands muffling their mouths. Tucker slumped back in his chair, his tired eyes focused on the table top.

A quote rang through Cragen's head.

_A threefold cord is not easily broken…assuming they need our skills more than they want obedience…._

Finally, the conferring ended. Chief deMichelis shot Cragen a dirty look while Chief Sullivan gave the team his best "you win, but I'm still Chief" smile.

"Your suggestions make sense," Chief Sullivan said. "Detectives Stabler and Tutuola, this is your baby. Daily progress reports will be made directly to me. When the operation is concluded, we'll make certain your partners and any one else impacted by this know the whys and wherefores for any required subterfuge. Sgt. Tucker, for this assignment only, you report to Detective Stabler. Stay and fill them in on the case. Anything else?"

Cragen shook his head.

_I know that smile—that's all we're going to wring from Tommy Sullivan._

"In that case, good evening and good hunting."

Chief Sullivan left, followed by Chief deMichelis. In their wake came silence. Cragen checked his detectives, all of whom were looking at one another with the glazed stare of people barely missed by a lightning bolt.

Elliot broke the quiet first. "I should have asked for a pony."

"Naw," responded Fin. "A Ferrari, then you get lots of horses."

"Black or red?" Judith asked.

"Titanium. That color's got class."

Tucker stared at the four of them. "You guys got balls. First Cragen stands up to the Chief, then you three."

Elliot leaned toward Tucker, his elbow still resting on the table as though they were sharing a friendly lunch. He bared his teeth in what no one would mistake for a smile.

"That's Captain Cragen to you, Tucker."

The IAB agent placed both hands on the table and began to rise from his chair, then he sat as slowly down, swallowing whatever he'd planned to say. He ignored Stabler's taunting grin to speak to Captain Cragen.

"Sir, my apologies. I meant no disrespect to you. Please understand—I don't like the position my CO put me in, but whatever it takes, as long as it's by-the-book, I'll do it. I want these bastards.

Cragen appraised his words and the earnestness in Tucker's eyes.

_I want these bastards, too—that's why I didn't quit over this._

"It' s okay, Sergeant," he said, voicing his thoughts. "I don't think any of us likes the position we're in right now. I do know that all of us will play well together."

He stressed the word "all" and started pointedly at Stabler, who answered the implied command with a nod.

"Now, if you'll fill my detectives in on the case…."

Tucker opened the top folder and passed four copies of the case files to Cragen and his detectives.

"These are copies of Agent Hagemeyer's DD-5, his closing report, and Detective Skelton's reports on the crime scene. You can see why we closed the case and why Skelton disagreed with us. There also are financials for Delgado and Henry, their bank records with the weekly withdrawals highlighted, and all the forensic reports.

Elliot, Fin, and Judith thumbed through their stacks of paper. Fin stopped at the financials, Judith the forensics. She held up three photos; one showed the two officers dead in the motel bed The second showed the bed after the ME had taken the bodies. The third was a copy of the second with an outline of the bodies drawn on it.

"This is what made Detective Skelton question IAB's findings?"

"Yes, the spatter patterns," Tucker said. "Blood and GSR under Henry's arm shouldn't have been there if Delgado had shot her, then himself. Skelton thought that the perps came in while they were asleep, used Delgado's weapon to shoot Henry, then forced the gun into Delgado's mouth and shot him. His struggles may have disturbed Henry's body, moving her arm over the blood and gunshot residue."

"Evon has a good eye," Otten said. "There's less than an inch of overlap. Tucker, you shouldn't blame your people for missing it."

Tucker turned up a corner of his mouth, grateful for the bone tossed him.

"However," she continued, "you can fault them for thinking they were capable Homicide detectives."

Fin's head snapped up. She ignored his glare.

"If IAB had left Evon on the case, it wouldn't have been closed as a murder-suicide. Suicides don't warrant burial with honors and it's almost as shameful to be killed in a lover's quarrel. IAB's high-handedness caused two injustices."

"I took care of that," Cragen said. "I told the Chief that, once this is over, Officers Henry and Delgado will get memorial services with appropriate honors. That was my price for agreeing to this circus."

Elliot chuckled. "Circus—that says it all. We got trained animals; we got clowns; we got…."

_Cut it out, Detective._

Stabler caught the message in his CO's dark eyes and ended his sentence with a tight smile. Fin filled the awkward silence by pointing to a page of financial records in his file copy.

"These cash withdrawals started nine months ago. Did Delgado and Henry keep their affair going all that time or was their last fling also staged?"

"We don't know," Tucker told him. "No one we interviewed knew of their affair."

He shook his head and swallowed hard. "I've been wondering how it went down. I want to think that the perps found them in bed and didn't force them to undress and crawl under the covers. That would be worse."

Fin ducked his head to focus on the papers before him. Cragen heard him mutter, "You don't know worse."

_Damn right, but Tucker's at least trying. I didn't think he had it in him._

Elliot finished scanning his copy and flipped its file shut.

"Why do you and the chiefs think ra—I mean IAB agents are behind this?"

"Statistics. The number of on-the-job affairs is below normal and has been for at least ten months. Per Chief deMichelis' orders, I ran the numbers for the last five years. I found the number first dipped eighteen months ago; that decrease grew over the next six months and has held steady since."

"How many are there usually?"

"That's not germane to this operation."

"So," Elliot said as he reasoned through Tucker's info, "a report of two uniforms playing Hide the Salami comes in from a field associate, someone intercepts it, confronts the uniforms and tells them 'Pay up or IAB takes your job and pension'—that's the idea?"

Tucker nodded. "Yes and that's as far into our workings as I'm allowed to take you."

Elliot rubbed his jaw as he finished his thought. "Our job is to dangle Cap and Judith in front of a bunch of ra—field associates and IAB agents until one of them bites. Where's the best place to find these agents?"

"Don't worry about that," Tucker said. "I do the assigning, so I'll make certain Captain Cragen and Detective Otten are noticed. If the report ends up in the proper channels, then we'll know we haven't hooked the right fish."

Judith cocked her head and looked at the IAB agent, her eyes and smile bright.

"So, what are we required to do? Is dinner together enough or do we have to scare the horses in the station house?"

Cragen snapped his jaw shut in time to stop a guffaw.

_I haven't heard that euphemism in years._

"We thrashed that one out earlier today," he told the team. "There will be no horse-scaring near or in the One-Six in the hopes that the rest of SVU won't catch on. As to other places—Judith, are you sure you're on board with this?"

Detective Otten looked directly at him.

"Actually, sir—I have all sorts of misgivings. If rumors about us start to spread, we'll have no control over what people think. Despite what the chief promised, repairing our reputations might be impossible. A captain and his detective—it's too juicy to ignore."

"That wasn't what I meant."

Cragen gave her a long searching stare, which Judith returned with a confident smile.

"Captain, I started out in Vice. I'm okay with this."

_Great—that makes one of us._

"Then," Cragen said, "let's get things going. Sergeant—how fast can you get things set up at your end?"

"Tomorrow. All I need is a location."

"Not close to their homes," said Elliot. "or near the One-Six. Judith, you're north Brooklyn and Cap is Bensonhurst. That leaves Manhattan North, the Bronx, Staten Island, Queens…. I know a good Italian place near here; want to start there?"

Judith met Cragen's gaze. "Works for me, sir."

"Okay, Italian it is," he answered. "Elliot, you arrange for ears for Judith—I'll never manage to hide an earpiece—and radios for you, Fin, and Tucker….

Logistics occupied the next twenty minutes. After radios, surveillance vehicles, locations, and other details were settled, Cragen asked, "Sergeant, what does it take to get IAB to notice us?"

"Normal dinner conversation isn't enough," Tucker told him. "You can discuss a case with your subordinate over spaghetti and we won't bat an eye. Have too many dinners, hold hands, kiss, PDAs of any sort—that sets our antennas quivering. Act like you are intimate and we'll assume that you are intimate."

Judith nodded. "So we're in for a series of intimate dinners paid for by the brass. Sounds fattening."

"You could be sitting in a car eating cold Chinese and listening to those intimate dinners," said Elliot. "Which brings up a point—if we ever have to track you and Judith separately, we don't have enough people. Skelton and his CO know about this situation. Cap, do you think we can draft them if we need them?"

Cragen nodded. "Don't see why not. Check with Chief Sullivan when you call him tomorrow. One more thing—we can't meet as a group without attracting the wrong sort of attention. Elliot, you and Judith be in my office after the shift meeting to finalize tomorrow night, then Elliot can coordinate with Fin and Tucker. We'll vary the attendance each day so no one catches on. Any questions?"

Tucker said, "This operation needs a name."

_Well, since we are pulling them out of the fire for IAB…._

"Chestnut."

The finality in Cragen's answer cut off any discussion. He ignored Fin's muttered "What about Rat's Ass?" and brought the long meeting to a close.

"Go home, people—we're looking at some long, strange nights and we'd better be ready."


	3. Ghosts of Spouses Past

_A/N: I play a bit fast-and-loose with Captain Cragen's history in this chapter._

* * *

6 June  
Residence of Captain Donald Cragen  
Bensonhurst, NY

Don Cragen turned east onto Eighty-First Street, then backed into the first driveway.

_That lilac by the front door needs pruning._

He left the car out….

_No sense in putting it in the garage; I'll be leaving again in a few hours._

…and walked to the back door…

_Need to check the pool pH and skim it soon._

…and let himself in.

_Home. Sanctuary. Millstone._

His tie hit the kitchen counter along with his keys. Ninety seconds later, he was in a leather chair in the front room, glass of milk on a coaster to protect the end table, junk mail tossed, bills stacked, magazines nearby on the floor in case he actually got time to read them. The TV was off, along with his shoes. All he wanted was quiet and comfort, a secure cocoon in which to think.

The chair on the other side of the table was empty, had been empty since March 23rd, 1997. Even when people came over, it stayed empty. One glance from him and their rears found another place to rest.

_It's not much of a memorial, but flying nose-first into a swamp doesn't leave much to memorialize…._

He tried to picture Marge in that chair, feet curled beneath her, book propped on the left arm rest, her head cocked and her hand resting on her thigh between page turnings. The chair remained empty.

_Why can't I picture her sitting there?_

He could see Marge in front of the house the day they moved in, a slender woman surrounded by their worldly goods in banana boxes from the local market. Marge in her Eastern uniform, yellow and bright blue, the day she graduated stew school. Marge next to her father, poised to come down the aisle in her wedding dress, Marge seated next to him wearing basic black and her grandmother's pearls at the Empire Room, Marge floating in an inner tube, her turquoise bathing suit blending into the blue of the water in their pool….

_All my mental images come from photos, not memory. I can remember her scent, her hair smooth against my cheek, her arms around my waist, and the sound of my name on her lips…but I can't remember how she looked outside of a photograph._

"Twenty-two years."

He picked up his glass and sipped the milk in it.

_I spend two-thirds of those years in a bottle--drunk, sober, drunk again. It's a wonder Marge stayed with me through that time. If I hadn't made captain…._

That photo hung on the wall next to their wedding photo, him wearing his new insignia on his uniform. Those two gold bars are what did it….

_I knew I couldn't hold it together; I was barely coping as a lieutenant what with the booze and the partying and waking up God-knows-where next to 'Good God, who are you?' Making Captain was the scariest thing that ever happened to me, even counting 'Nam. I looked at those bars and I looked at the bottle I'd just taken from my desk drawer and I knew I had to choose…._

"Damn, that drink tasted good."

He had drained the paper cup and placed it between his legs by the pint hidden there. The bullpen was empty except for two uniforms hanging around the coffee pot; they had their backs to him. No one had seen the first drink; no one would see the next one—but any one walking past would see the captain's bars still in their plastic packaging in the center of his desk blotter.

_Someone thinks I can do this. I know I can't… not like this…._

He crumpled the paper cup with one hand, and tossed it in the waste basket by his desk. He slid the bottle into his hip pocket; the bars he held in his hand as he headed for the john. He stood there in front of the sink and stared at the bars in his left hand, the vodka in his right.

_One or the other…which do I need more?_

"Easy question—I need the booze. I want the bars."

He unscrewed the cap and held the pint over the sink. His hand shook and his brain screamed at him to stop it—stop it right now—but the bottle slowly tipped and its contents slid down the drain. He tossed the empty bottle in the trash.

Then he reached into the trash and fished it out.

_Turn it over. There has to be something left…it wasn't upside-down long enough for all of it to pour out….there has to be something left…add a little water and dilute whatever stuck to the sides…there has to be something…this is pathetic…._

He tossed the bottle again then headed home.

_Home…home is where you hang your head…._

Marge was there, different chair, same place in the front room. She put her magazine on the table and looked up at him as he stood before her. He knew she could tell the booze, see its effects in his eyes. He'd held out the captain's bars, their package crumpled from being crushed in his hand the entire drive home.

"I can't do this."

She reached up and held his hand and the insignia between her two hands.

"Yes, Donnie—you can. I know you can."

Don Cragen held up his glass of milk in salute to his wife.

_You were right. I don't know how you knew or how you could be so patient—I made you wait so damn long for that day—but you were right. I could do it. I did do it. I'm still doing it every day._

"Marge, I wish…."

_I wish you were still here. I wish I hadn't drowned most of our marriage in cheap alcohol. I wish I'd been sober with you for longer than seven years. You deserved so much more than I gave you…._

"I wish I knew it was worth it to you."

He took his empty glass to the kitchen, checked the back door, and headed to bed.

7 June  
Captain Cragen's Office

After the shift meeting, Cragen waved Elliot and Judith into his office. He sat behind his desk, his shirt sleeves already rolled up and tie loosened. Elliot's tie also hung loose; Judith had left her jacket at her desk. Mugs of coffee steamed in front of the three, negating any cooling from the clothing adjustments.

"Until this is over, I'll meet with two pairs of detectives daily," Cragen said. "One PP sent out a directive urging communication between detective teams so that's the official rationale. Let's hope no one notices that one pair is you two or one of you and Fin."

He gulped his coffee. "I don't suppose there's much to report yet?"

Elliot shook his head. "I called the Chief on my way in this morning and told him what we'd laid out last night. He said that we can have Skelton and Lt. Morton if we need them but to keep them in the dark until we do. There's also an operations database that we can access. Tucker and I can trade messages on it, coordinate each night's activities."

"Yeah, his admin sent me a password for it."

Cragen examined the two detectives. A smile curved the corner of Elliot's mouth and his eyes were alert—Stabler ready to tackle another case. That this one involved crooked IAB agents only made it sweeter for him.

_He's in his element with this, much more than if Tucker was in charge._

Judith was cradling her coffee mug as if her life depended on its fumes. Her eyelids sagged and her ear lobes were missing their usual pearl studs.

_Looks like she slept badly and got up late, same as me. Maybe she's not as on-board with this as she says…._

Cragen took a deep breath. "I thought about this last night and there's some ground rules we're going to follow. One, no rats—honest or crooked—in my house or Judith's house. However we hook them, it won't be in our homes."

Judith gave his words an emphatic nod.

"Two, I'm only performing for the cameras once. We wait until Tucker's certain we've hooked the right rats before we pretend to exchange DNA."

Both detectives nodded. Elliot's smile threatened to spread from eager to mischievous, but he choked it back.

"Cap, you and Judith will need to practice. If we want to sell this affair, it has to look authentic."

"Yeah, I know."

_Like I'm looking forward to it…._

"Which brings me to number three. I trust Tommy Sullivan as far as I can throw his Irish butt so I want documentation of everything Judith and I do. If those IAB agents take pictures, I want pictures that show we're faking it. If they take video, I want video. Got it?"

"Definitely," said Judith. "That's SOP. We'll set it up so the rats see what we want them to see and we record what we want the judge and jury to see. That way, our evidence trumps theirs."

She turned to Elliot. "It's not too soon to think about where and how to stage this. Can we all get together for lunch today?"

"Not Fin or me," Cragen told her. "I'm due downtown and Fin's in court this afternoon."

"Then you and me," Elliot said. "If we bring back food, no one will care what we do. Cap, anything else?"

_Yeah, but it involves replacing me with Bower or Alvarez or any other captain…._

"We're good. Can you send Al and John in?"

7 June  
Noon  
SVU Squad Room

Olivia looked up from her computer screen to see Elliot shrugging into his suit coat.

"Where you heading?"

Elliot shoved his arm into its sleeve.

_Okay—here goes the first lie of Operation Chestnut…._

"Lunch. Cap wants me to spend some time with Judith. He says, since I know Couch from before, I need to get a feel for her, too."

He cocked his head and brought the corners of his mouth up.

"The joys of being senior on the team. I get to have lunch with my mother."

Olivia raised her eyebrows and he held his hands up to fend off her disapproval. She accepted his implied apology with a smile.

"Actually, El—it's a good idea. You do the assigning when Cragen's not here; you need to understand everyone's strengths and weaknesses. Bring me back a tuna sandwich and a large tea?"

"Sure."

Elliot stood up and grabbed his jacket. "Judith," he asked, "you feel like lunch?"

Otten frowned at the folders and photos scattered on her desk.

"I feel like a change of scenery—sure."

Her partner didn't look up from his reading. "Double cheeseburger, extra everything, mayonnaise, chocolate malt, vinegar chips."

"Mayonnaise?" she asked.

Couch nodded. "For the burger."

"Could be worse," Elliot told her as they left the squad room. "Try being stuck in a RMP with him while he eats it."

For once, it was Judith who looked queasy.

7 June  
Country Mile Diner  
Midtown

As soon as the waiter was out of listening range, Stabler and Otten resumed their discussion, pitching their voices under the hubbub around them.

"If we're considering parking lot sex, we need a secluded lot where we can control the location of the target—something like this…."

Judith cleared the table between her mushroom salad and Elliot's turkey sandwich with fries.

"Put the surveillance van here"—she put a salt shaker above and right of her salad—"so it has a clear view of us"—the pepper shaker went by his plate—"from the front of the car; that view will show us from the side. The tape will show how we're faking it from that angle."

She placed the catsup bottle by his folded napkin. "The catsup is the target vehicle. Its occupants can see only my back as I sit on the hood. The car and I block their view of the captain's body so they can see only his head and arms around me. This lets us control their perception of what's happening while we record the actuality of it from the surveillance van."

Elliot grabbed a French fry and used it to point at the catsup.

"The best way to make sure the target parks where we want is to park there ourselves. The target arrives, we pull out and leave the spot empty for them."

Judith nodded. "Whoever is driving that car can either join the surveillance team in the van or he can sit tight until the target leaves."

"Or go home and get some sleep." Elliot bit through the fry.

"Don't mention sleep," Judith said around a yawn. "So, do you think this might work?"

"Looks good so far. All we need is a restaurant with a parking lot that allows this setup and has enough privacy for horse-scaring—that is what you called it?"

She chuckled. "The full quote is 'I don't care what people do as long as they don't do it in the streets and scare the horses.' Captain Cragen recognized it."

"Yeah, only time all evening he didn't look pissed. He's not thrilled about this assignment."

Judith speared an artichoke piece. "That makes two of us."

Elliot waved another fry at her. "As you calmly plan how to fake sex with our CO."

Her gaze slid to her salad. "I'd rather scrub the holding tank with my toothbrush. There's so many ways this could go wrong."

Elliot thought about that as he bit into his sandwich.

"What's your worry? We're still planning; we can take care of it now."

She shifted in her chair and reached for her tea glass. The slow sips told him that she was stalling her answer. Finally, Judith put the glass down, sighed and looked at him.

"When I was Vice, we'd go out after shift with our partners. David would meet up with us and we'd all laugh about the job—it was serious work, but we'd joke about what we did and how it went down. Captain Cragen…he's not my partner and he isn't David. He's my CO. I was awake last night thinking about retirement—that's how wrong this feels."

She paused and stared straight at him without seeing him. Her lips tightened and her eyes held an emptiness that hurt him to see it there.

_I've seen exactly that expression before…where?_

She blinked a few times, clearing the emotion from her eyes, and resumed speaking.

"But it doesn't matter how I feel about this. IAB is corrupt and that has to be fixed."

"Yeah, but by us? By you and Cap?"

"Someone has to. IAB already blew it."

The next fry he picked was too long for pointing. Elliot folded it, dipped it in catsup, then ate it.

"What if we brought Liv in to take your place?"

His idea received a few seconds' consideration before she shook her head.

"No, Chief Sullivan's right. No one will believe that Captain Cragen and Olivia are in an affair after their working together for so many years. As for me—I met Don years ago through David and I'm new enough to SVU that it is plausible that I transferred in to make an affair easier."

Elliot chewed that over with another bite of sandwich.

_So much for getting Liv on board…but I'd rather wrestle alligators than lie to her…._

"You ever meet Marge Cragen?"

She nodded. "A couple of times, but only once to talk to. We were at the same table for an awards banquet probably ten years ago—not long before her plane crash."

Judith speared the last mushroom from her salad and ate it.

"I ran into Don about a year later at the firing range. I was surprised to see how awful he still looked, like someone had just torn his guts out. I thought a year would be enough time to heal…."

She was looking straight at Elliot as she spoke. Without shifting her eyes, her focus shifted from him to somewhere filled with loss and pain.

"I know better now."

Elliot watched her face, trying again to match her expression to one he was certain he'd seen before. 

_Kathy…that's the way Kathy looked at me the last time we fought about my work. She wasn't yelling or angry—she just looked empty and hurt, like Judith does now. It's stupid—I didn't die; I was there every day for her….mostly._

"Are you okay?"

He waved off Judith's concern.

"Yeah. I just remembered that I have to call my—my ex-wife."

He watched her busy herself with the last of her salad, using the action as a screen behind which to regain her composure. By the time the last green had been swallowed, Detective Otten showed no signs of misgivings or worries.

"Are we finished here?" she asked.

"Yeah." He signaled for the check. "Now, if we can keep this operation a secret, keep Tucker in line, keep Cap from blowing up, and catch the rats on the first try…hell, I love doing the impossible."

Judith chuckled. "It's not impossible. Impossible is me talking with my husband—that requires Dr. Frankenstein and a backhoe."

He started to disagree then her last four words sunk in.

_Humor… she uses humor as her coping mechanism…._

"What is it about Homicide?" he asked. "You, John, even Cap—all of you have the same screwed-up sense of humor."

"It's embalming fluid," she answered. "We add it to the coffee to kill the taste, but it does things to our brains."

Elliot grinned. "That explains John's coffee."

"His coffee tastes fine to me."

His grin widened. "You just proved my point."

The waiter dropped their bills and took their plates. Elliot snatched Judith's before she could read it.

"We're sticking Chief Sullivan with this."

"What about our partners' food?"

"I'll worry about expense reports. You worry about convincing IAB's field associates that you and Cap are getting it on."


	4. The Affair Begins

7 June  
Parking lot of Alfano's Restaurant  
Queens, NY

_Much as I hate to admit it, Tucker scored us a damn fine surveillance van…._

Fin glanced around the interior of the white Dodge Sprinter: A/C, a partition between them and the cab for privacy, a full communications set with a decent chair and two 21-inch flat screen monitors, hidden cameras with a 360 degree view around the van and, best of all, head room.

_I can stand up and stretch without leaving the van. Damn, that's a good thing._

Three red lamps lit the interior, one mounted over the comm unit, the other two over the rear door and on the partition above two jump seats on which Tucker and Elliot were sitting. Backlit by ruddy light, they sat and watched the two monitors. The left one showed a split-screen view of the parking lot and the entire front window. This view included the main seating area, the bar behind it, and the hostess stand, although details of these areas were slightly obscured by distance and dim light.

The right-hand monitor showed the two-top where Cragen and Otten were seated. Elliot had reserved them a well-lit table by the window that afforded the van's cameras a perfect view of the couple.

Cragen had left his tie somewhere; his collar was open under his suit coat.

_Probably his idea of suave…._

Judith had ditched her jacket and shoulder holster and had added a string of amber beads to her beige blouse.

_Least she tried…._

A speaker overhead in the van let them hear the feed from Judith's wire:

Cragen: What made Tommy Sullivan back down? You don't have that kind of juice."

Otten: "I've sat across his desk as a officer of the Shomrim Society and they have juice in spades. Chief Sullivan probably remembered the last negotiation and pictured every Jewish cop on the force, all of them angry.

Cragen: Like the scene from 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' ? Upset Jewish cops and your face melts….

Otten: Umm…in a mixed-metaphor sort of way, yes.

Fin shook his head at them.

_Start actin' like a couple. Rival gangs cuddle more than you two…._

Sgt. Tucker voiced the same concern. "Ask them to hold hands or something—pretend they like each other."

Fin glanced at Elliot, who nodded.

The only sign that Judith heard Fin was a slight tightening of her mouth. Without saying a word, she lifted her left hand and rested it on the window sill; Cragen's right hand, his fingers interlaced with hers, moved with it.

"Thanks," Fin said into his microphone. "Tucker is happy now."

"Screw you, Tutuola."

"Try it and I'll bust you."

Otten: whispered How about some deep sighs and soulful stares?

She tipped her head, a sappy smile plastered on her face. Across the table, Cragen matched the gesture and smile. His finger beat three against her wrist, then they drew in simultaneous deep breaths and slowly released them, resuming the sappy smiles once their lungs were empty.

Cragen: whispered Goopy enough for you?

The three in the van muffled guffaws.

"That goes on the tape we play for the squad Christmas party."

"We gonna do a blooper reel?"

Elliot hooked a thumb at the monitor, where Cragen and Judith were laughing hard enough to bring tears to Judith's eyes.

"You want that in evidence?"

Fin grinned. "Depends on the judge."

Tucker straightened in his seat. "Head's up—tonight's fish have arrived."

On the right monitor, they saw two women exiting a blue Miata that had parked close to the front door. Both were in their twenties, the driver a blonde in jeans and a pink tank top, the passenger a henna brunette in jeans and pale green. They entered the restaurant, appearing on the other side of the monitor by the hostess stand. The two women spoke briefly to the hostess then took seats at the bar.

"White wine."

"Naw," Fin told Elliot. "Vodka and fruit juice."

They both looked at Tucker, who aimed a finger at Fin. "Point goes to Tutuola. Schunk drinks rum and Coke and Rankin likes vodka martinis."

A tall glass of dark liquid and a martini were placed before the women. They looked around the room, then spoke together. The blonde took a cell phone from her bag, glanced at it, then showed it to the other woman. They didn't take direct notice of the other patrons.

Elliot jerked his head at the restaurant. Both Tucker and Fin shook their heads.

_We'll tell them when the rats are gone. Even the best tense up when the target's in sight. _

Fin tuned back to the transmitted conversation.

_Hope those rats can't hear Cap'n and Judith…._

Cragen: Let me get this straight—we're supposed to pretend we're having sex on the hood of my car?

Otten: Yes.

Cragen: And I'm supposed to discuss this right now while looking completely infatuated with you?

Otten: Yes.

Cragen: Shouldn't your "Yes" be more excited? We are talking sex here.

At the bar, the two women chatted with the bartender, fidgeted with their drinks, and looked around the room, concentrating their concern on the front door.

"How'd you decide on these two, Tucker?" Fin asked. "Why them and not two other ra—field associates?"

Tucker frowned at his substitution.

"Whether you like it or not, Tutuola, it's a honorable job."

Fin kept his eyes on the monitor.

"Yeah, yeah—a few bad cops make it all worthwhile. But I'm asking—you have a list of suspects or you just tanglin' bait in front of everyone?"

Tucker's mouth worked like he was rehearsing his answer, chewing his words as he chose them. Next to him, Elliot leaned forwards as if to urge him to answer.

"We have a guess as to when Delgado and Henry began their affair. It's in the files we gave you—August of last year. It's based on one restaurant charge receipt so it's not very solid. I checked the logs for the FAs active that month and we're working through them."

"How many are on that list?" Elliot asked.

"I can't tell you."

Elliot leaned closer, sliding into Tucker's person space to force a more forthcoming answer.

"Can you tell us how these two knew to come here?"

Tucker held his position just long enough to show he understood Stabler's game. He then glanced at Fin and settled back in his jump seat.

"That I can tell you. We sift through rumors, allegations, and anomalies and hand any that seem likely to the FAs for verification. We're telling our targets on this operation that we have a report of a CO and his subordinate frequenting whatever restaurant Captain Cragen and Detective Otten are dining at."

Fin turned away to hide his smile.

Tucker will go to his deathbed calling Cap'n 'Captain Cragen.' I wonder if Elliot knows that he got to him that bad?

Elliot nodded at Tucker's answer and settled back into his own seat.

"So, now we wait."

The three men watched in silence as the FAs spent another five minutes chatting together then they paid for their drinks and left. At no time did Fin see them pay any attention to Cragen and Otten.

"That's it?" he asked Tucker.

The IAB nodded. "If those two are honest, I'll have a report on my desk tomorrow morning. If not, I won't."

Elliot shifted in his seat to face Tucker.

"What happens to that report?"

"Nothing. We won't act on it."

"Yeah, but what stops IAB from using it down the road? I don't want this hanging over us the next time you guys decide to hound us."

Fin leaned forward, adding his interest in the matter to Stabler's.

"We'll need that report for this operation's files," he noted. "You want to deliver the original to us?"

Tucker looked from Elliot to Fin and back again. He nodded.

"Good point. I'll get it to you tomorrow, if it's filed with me. If it's not, then we better be prepared for the next level."

Elliot turned to Fin. "Tell Judith they can wrap it up and ask if they want to practice their porno moves."

Fin turned on his mic.

"The target has come and gone. You want to finish eating then practice your porno moves?"

Elliot bolted out of his seat. "Fin!"

The speaker cut him off.

Judith: Fin says we're finished here. He wants to know if you're ready to practice your porno moves.

Cragen: pause I'm glad Fin thinks this is funny. I don't".

Elliot grinned. "Sounds like Dad doesn't like you best."

_Screw you, Stabler._

Cragen: Where do you suggest? looks directly at surveillance van The courthouse steps? Maybe Elliot can rent Carnegie Hall?

Fin chuckled. "Dad's got you pegged."

Tucker spoke up. "I live over by Queen's College. My wife's out of town and we've got a privacy fence around the back yard. Ask Captain Cragen if that will do."

Fin relayed the suggestion.

Cragen: Might as well get it over with.

7 June  
Residence of Sgt. Edward Tucker

The Tucker back yard was as promised—a small yard with single garage at the back and a tall, wood privacy fence surrounding everything. Sodium vapor security lamps mounted on the garage and back corner of the house lit the area. Tucker pulled his gray Camry onto the square of grass and let Cragen park his maroon LaSabre in the driveway before the garage.

Fin parked the surveillance van in the driveway outside the open gate; Judith pulled her blue Altima behind him. Elliot went through the partition door, powered up the comm unit and opened the van's sliding door. Tucker, Cragen, and Judith were outside waiting for him.

"The lights here should match the ones in a parking lot," Tucker told everyone. "What's the plan?"

Elliot said, "Let's stand where we want the agents to be. Judith and Cap can run through their act and we'll see if they're convincing."

He turned to Cragen. "You two ready?"

Cragen rolled his eyes. "It's the high point of my life."

Judith nodded.

"Okay. We'll wave when we're ready."

Elliot, Fin, and Tucker walked across the yard and leaned against the fence even with the hood of Cragen's Buick.

"Old people porn," Fin muttered. "I can't wait."

"Cap hears you, you're dead meat."

"C'mon, Elliot. Don't tell me you want to watch this."

Elliot shook his head. "I'm more afraid they'll stink and we'll be here all night."

Tucker snorted. "They'll get it right the first time."

Fin stared at Tucker through squinted eyes. "What makes you think that?"

"I looked up Otten's jacket. She knows what she's doing. Captain Cragen knows, if things go well tonight, he only has to do this once more. That's real motivation."

"I hope you're right." Elliot waved at Cragen and Otten. "It's show time."

Across the yard, Cragen turned to Judith.

"They're ready. Are we ready?"

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Doesn't matter. It's show time."

She slid her arm around his waist and squeezed.

"C'mon, Don. Don't tell me you've never made love in public before. Look around; there's no one to see us. It will be fun."

"Yeah," he whispered back. "Like a hundred paper cuts."

She grinned. "I knew you'd love the idea."

Her hand moved from his back to his chest, then she reached behind his neck and pulled him down to place her lips on his.

_Wooden, unexciting—she wasn't kidding. We _are_ only going through the motions. _

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer.

"Like this?"

"Right," she whispered. "The closer together we are, the less they can see but the more it looks like what they want to see."

He looked over her head to the men by the fence.

"Okay," he whispered in her ear. "Let's give them a show to remember."

He dropped his hands to her hips. "How about the hood of my car?"

She pulled back just enough to see his face. "Sounds wonderful. How about a kiss first?

He leaned close to her face, keeping her between him and their audience. He held the pose a few seconds while she pressed against him, her hands at his waist, her thumbs hooked inside his belt. She then took a step back, pulling him toward the car. He followed, keeping his gaze locked on her face and his hands on her back. They moved in tandem the few feet to his car; when they were even with its fender, Judith leaned back against it. He stopped in front of her and drew close to fake another kiss.

"Great," she told him. "Now, we slide along the car while you unbutton my shirt and I pretend to unfasten you."

His hands froze on her back. "Can't I pretend to do that?"

"No, they need to see the fabric moving. Don't worry; I'm wearing a tank top under this and I'll do the same next time."

_That's not the part I'm worried about…._

"Okay." He fumbled her top button; the rest parted easily, revealing nothing but beige fabric. Judith kept her eyes averted, giving him as much privacy as possible while her elbows moved as though she were opening his fly.

"Now, act as though that felt really good."

He closed his eyes, letting his mouth sag open, and pushed forward with his hips.

"Like this?"

"That should do. Help me up on the hood."

He clasped her waist and lifted as she jumped. When she was seated, she moved her knees apart and pulled him between them.

"When we do this for real," she whispered, "I'll wear a full skirt. It will give us even more cover for what we're not doing."

_This really is all play-acting…._

He placed his hands on her hips, curling his fingers behind her rump.

"If I'd know faking sex was this much fun…."

She gasped then started to laugh. She quickly muffled the noise but couldn't stop the spasms that accompanied her guffaws. He pressed against her, his hands on her hips, and tightened his grip as though he were thrusting into her. She wrapped her hands around his neck and he slumped against her, his face nuzzling her neck.

"Think that did it?" he whispered.

"What's our audience doing?"

He opened his eyes and looked.

"Staring at us with their mouths open."

She wriggled from his embrace and twisted around to see for herself.

"Well?" she called out to them. "Will that do?"

The three men glanced among themselves. Finally Fin said, "Damn. I feel like I should be sitting in the Harem Theater with a hand inside my trench coat."

Judith quickly twisted away to face Cragen's chest and shuddered.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I need to scrub that one from my brain."

He blinked, trying to wipe that image away, then asked, "How'd it look to you, Elliot? Tucker?"

"Looked good to me, Cap."

Tucker nodded. "You nailed it…uh, no pun intended, sir."

Cragen stepped away from Judith. She quickly did her buttons, slid down from the LaSabre, and turned to face them.

"I want to thank IAB," she said, "the Chief of Department, the Chief of Detectives…."

"_Thank" isn't the word I'd use, but it ends in the right letter…._

Cragen tapped Judith on the shoulder.

"This is only the dress rehearsal. We still have to wow a real audience."

At the fence, Elliot was speaking with Tucker.

"Judith," he called over to Otten. "Tucker's going to return the van. Can we get a lift to my our cars from you?"

She turned to Cragen.

"Sir, are we finished?"

_I wish we were…._

Cragen pulled his keys from his pocket. "Tucker, let Elliot know as soon as that report hits your desk. Fin, Elliot, Judith—I'll see you in the morning."

8 June  
Captain Cragen's office

"I'm beginning to think all the rats are honest."

Elliot stretched in the office side chair, his feet stuck under Cragen's desk, his hands high in the air. Two nights of sitting in that jump seat watching Cragen and Otten eat and flirt was doing nothing for his back. The night before had been at a small café in North Brooklyn. Two uniforms in a RMP cruised by while Cragen and Otten were eating their salads; they drove past again twenty minutes later. After the second pass, Tucker called the evening a success.

Fin, who was in the other side chair, snickered.

"Honest rats. Next we'll be talking about innocent perps."

"Or loveable defense lawyers," Cragen said. "Elliot, you hear from Tucker?"

"Yeah, Cap—right before you called us in here. The report was on his desk when he came in this morning. That's two sets of field associates who aren't blackmailers."

"Did Tucker say how many suspects we have?"

"No, Cap. We could be doing this for weeks."

Cragen sighed. "I don't want spend the rest of my life on this."

"Same here," Elliot said. "Tucker wants you at Sierra's Restaurant, Amsterdam and 83rd Street at eight tonight. He's reserved an outside table for then."

"Great," Cragen told him. "Let Judith know. Maybe the third time will be the one that hooks us a rat."

8 June  
SVU Squad Room  
End of shift

"Benson."

Olivia cradled the phone between ear and shoulder. "He is? Good. I'll be right there."

She hung up the phone then glanced around the room. Elliot was gone already; Judith had left two hours ago with her son and his wife—something about a death in Janet Otten's family—and Couch and Fin had taken off an hour after her. Although John's chair was empty, his computer still was on.

_Cragen isn't keen on us interviewing witnesses alone—not enough chain of evidence or corroboration in one person's remembering. If I can't find John, I'll have to grab someone from Howie's shift or a uniform…._

She checked the hall and spotted John exiting the elevator, a sheaf of file folders under his arm. She waited for him to reach the squad room then she pounced.

"John, you heading home?"

"After I drop these files on my partner's desk. He took off as soon as we got back from Riker's. He's stranded me here two days in a row; the least he can do is my paperwork."

Olivia grabbed the folders and tossed them on Fin's desk.

"Never mind that. I need to interview a witness; he's working the night shift at Alton Towing on Amsterdam. I'll drive you home afterward."

Munch glanced from the scattered folders to her.

"Hmm…you sound desperate. Suppose you also buy me dinner? I know a place near 83rd Street."

_I don't have time for this…._

"Cop bar?"

"No. Street side café with great meatloaf—the kind I wish my mother had made."

_If that's what it takes…._

"Okay—dinner it is, but you buy your own meatloaf."

8 June  
Sierra's Restaurant

Sierra's was busy for a week night, but a table in the center of the room opened just after they arrived. Olivia took the chair facing the street, leaving Munch the view of the interior.

_Good thing this came open—only other table available is that reserved one outside. I hate waiting, but John seems to be in Zen mode…maybe he's happy not being home alone…._

The trip had been a fruitful one. Ted Samms at Alton's Towing remembered seeing three males—one white, two brown—running past his apartment building the night before his vacation trip to Ohio. His descriptions matched those given by the victim and Samms was willing to try to pick them out of a line-up.

Olivia closed her phone and smiled at John.

"Riker's will send Al Vargas over in the morning; let's hope Samms picks him out. Then Elliot and I can lean on him and find the other two."

"Sounds good," John said. He placed his menu by his napkin. "I'll have a Cobb salad and the mushroom ravioli. You?"

Olivia glanced over her menu and shrugged.

"You said the meatloaf was good so I'll have—wait a minute. You ordered something else."

John was peering at her over his lenses, one eyebrow raised. He said nothing.

"I told you that you had to buy your own meatloaf so you're assuming I'll pay for your ravioli."

He smiled. "I never said you were stupid."

Olivia gave him her best "I want your balls in a blender" stare. John's smile did not waver. Finally, she gave in.

"I don't know how you stayed married long enough to get divorced. Okay—but you owe me next time we're on stakeout."

"Deal."

"I also don't know how Fin puts up with you."

"The same can be said of you and Elliot, Couch and Otten, Fred and Tammy, Howie and Susan…."

"Okay—I got it."

They ordered then chatted about things not work-related. Olivia tried to avoid anything remotely resembling a conspiracy theory, but when she mentioned alligator attacks in Florida, John was off and running.

"The facile explanation is that uncontrolled urban sprawl is encroaching on the alligator's habitat, which forces their prey to die or move away. When there is nothing natural to eat, gators hunt for pet poodles, small children, golfers, whatever wanders by their ponds. However, it's well-known that runoff from Florida's power plants….

Olivia kept a smile on her face while her gaze darted about looking something to occupy her mind while she pretended to listen.

_A couple arguing at the bar, a darling toddler in a high chair, that server almost dropped a tray on that fussy woman—damn, that would have been justice, there's a couple walking a husky…._

"Son of a bitch!"

John stiffened, his fork poised between plate and mouth.

"Olivia? What?"

"Turn around very slowly—don't look like you're looking—and check out that reserved table by the sidewalk."

He placed his fork down and tugged his lapel, confirming access to his service weapon, then bent over as if picking up a dropped napkin. He turned back and let out a long, slow breath through pursed lips.

"Tell me that isn't our captain with Detective Otten."

"Wish I could."

She moved her chair to her left so Munch blocked their view of her then she looked again at the table. Cragen was seated by the street; Judith on his right. His arm was wrapped around her shoulder; her hand was placed high on his thigh.

John hunched over in an attempt to disguise his height and appearance.

"We should leave before they see us."

"Yeah." Olivia waved at their server. "The bill, please and could you wrap this for us?"

_I just lost my appetite…._


	5. Dipping Your Wick

9 June  
JavaJones  
Varick Street

The café was chock-a-block with people waiting for their morning fix, but they made way for the lean figure in black like a school of herring parting for a barracuda. Whether due to politeness, awe, or fear of old-people cooties, their motion allowed Munch to reach the corner table with losing a drop from the two cups that he carried.

"I liked the world better when this…."

He pointed to his grande Wake-UP! blend, no sweeteners, flavors, milk nor soy.

"…was a large black coffee and that…"

He pointed to Olivia's banana coconut CafeSmoothy.

"…was a fruit shake. Everything is needlessly complicated now."

Olivia smiled her gratitude for the smoothie before taking a sip. "Last night didn't uncomplicate things, did it?"

"No, it didn't." John blew on his coffee then sipped it. "I sat up last night thinking of scenarios where I'd have my arm around a woman the way Don was holding Otten."

"And?"

"Every one of them had me expecting to score."

"You and I have sat in Mulrooney's with your arm on the booth behind me," Olivia pointed out.

John waggled his fingers at her.

Yes, but these never got that near your chest."

"Good thing. I'd have removed them at the elbow."

He jerked his hand back as if protecting it from her fury.

"Judith certainly wasn't defending her supposed virtue."

"No, she wasn't," Olivia agreed. "The only non-sexual reason I know for touching a man's thigh like that is a severed femoral artery. I didn't see any blood."

"Neither did I."

She sipped her drink and watched John do the same.

"We're both stalling," she said. "Any ideas what we should do about this?"

"Ignore it and hope it goes away?"

She shook her head. "Much as I'd like that, it won't work."

"Call IAB and turn them in?"

"John!"

"It's an option," he said, his eyebrows high over his lenses. "I didn't say it was the best option."

"It's not even in the top fifty of options."

She slapped her hand on the table, setting both cups to wobble.

"What are they thinking? Cragen just warned the entire unit about this very thing—remember the canoodling lecture?

John steadied both cups then sipped from his.

"Canoodle—such a quaint word, especially coming from the captain of the Sex Crimes Unit."

"Cragen's not going to stay captain if the rats catch him."

"Best scenario is that he takes a pay and vacation hit and Otten is transferred out. That leaves us short a detective and Sofarelli _sans_ partner. Worst case has Don out on his ass with no pension, no insurance, his reputation shot to hell…."

"Judith, too."

"Yeah. Her, too."

"It's okay with you if Judith takes it in the neck?"

He dropped his head and peered over his lenses at her.

"Better her than Don. He's one of us. She is the new guy and probably instigated the whole affair."

Olivia thought back to her lunch with Judith only two weeks earlier. The older woman almost had cried at mention of her dead husband.

_She seemed sincere. She might be a very good actress or maybe they simply hit it off… I wonder…._

"John," she said, testing the idea. "They looked good together—Judith and Cap."

"Doesn't make it right, Liv. Never dip your wick in the company ink—a good rule to live by."

"Do you really thing Judith started it?"

John sighed. "I've know Don nine years. He's been a monk the entire time. Marge was his one and only—at least, when he was sober."

"Huh?"

"I've heard stories. Don was a bit wild back when he drank."

"You think he's drinking again?"

Munch drew himself back, gazed at the ceiling and thought about it.

"I don't think so. I know my drinks and that was a glass of club soda."

Olivia swirled the last of her smoothie in its cup.

"We have to talk to them. Maybe we can get them to stop it before it goes any farther."

His upper lip curled, a sneer at their chance of salvaging the mess. "You want Judith?"

"No, I want this to go away, but that's not going to happen. I'll take Judith."

"Then I'll talk to Don."

John finished his coffee and set the cup down, his long fingers tapping on it, four taps from index to little finger then back, a fidget that exposed his nervousness.

"When," he asked, "should we say something to our partners and Couch?"

She frowned. "Uh…not until we're certain. This could rip the unit apart."

"Not could," John noted. "Will."

"Then let's put off telling anyone until we hear what Don and Judith have to say. Maybe we're wrong."

John showed his teeth and faked a laugh. Olivia gulped the dregs of her smoothie.

"You're right. I don't believe it either. Let's get this over with."

9 June  
SVU Squad Room

Eight-thirty a.m. came and went, as did nine-thirty and ten-thirty. Munch produced three DD-5s, filed fifteen folders, phoned Casey about an upcoming trial, read the editorial section of the NY Times, and discussed Houston's win over the Yankees with Fin, Couch, and Elliot. Olivia's increasingly frequent glares failed to move him into Cragen's presence.

Finally, while Couch was on the phone and Fin talked to Elliot by the coffee machine, she walked over to John's desk.

"You're stalling."

He leaned back in his chair and stared up at her.

"No, I'm considered my approach. What do you think—should I blindside Don like a suspect or beseech him as a friend?"

She folded her arms and frowned down at him.

"You're stalling."

He gave her a bright-eyed toothy grin.

"How about we trade? I'll take Otten whenever she gets here and you talk to Cragen now."

She leaned over and whispered, "You're stalling."

"Okay, okay." He stood up and dusted off his trousers. He then adjusted his tie, checked his belt buckle, shook his cuffs down on his wrists, and picked up his mug. Olivia grabbed the mug.

"Uh, uh, uh—no tea until you talk to the Captain."

He leaned close and stared straight into her eyes.

"Pushiness is the quality I love least in a woman."

With that, he walked to Cragen's door and knocked.

9 June  
SVU Squad Room

By the coffee pot

Fin poured coffee into a mug half-filled with milk. Elliot arranged his and Olivia's mugs, one per hand, while he waited for two uniforms to climb the stairs out of earshot.

"Tucker says still no reports filed, " he told Fin. "We may have hooked our rats."

Fin nodded. "Good. We have a location yet?"

"There's a German restaurant in Astoria that has a small parking lot behind it. We can fill the lot with our own cars, position the surveillance van and Cap's LaSabre, and steer the rats to where we want them to park. I ran by there this morning and it's exactly what we need."

"Cap'n know?"

"Yep."

"We shooting for tonight?"

Elliot shrugged. "Tucker will let me know if the targets look like they're interested or if they just didn't see enough reason to report our lovebirds."

" 'Lovebirds.' Fin sneered the word. "Judith or Cap'n hear you call them that…."

"I'll make sure they don't. Soon as John gets out of Cap's office, Cap and I will call Tucker. He's arranging taps on Cap's and Judith's office phones and their home lines for when the blackmail demands show up. Meet you upstairs afterward and I'll update you."

The two men carried their mugs back to their desks.

9 June  
Captain Cragen's office

"Don? Can I talk to you?"

Cragen looked up from his computer screen. "Sure, John. Have a chair."

"Thanks." He selected the chair opposite Cragen and sank into it. Across the desk, he watched his captain lace his fingers together and wait for him to speak.

_This man is my friend, even more than Gee was. He listened to Lennie's recommendation and took me on when I needed out of Baltimore. He has stood up for me, backed my plays, and trusted me to help him out of jams. I ought to blindside him with the facts, treat him like a perp in the box, get him to admit the truth before he can consider the consequences… but he is my friend…._

"John? You okay?"

_That's my cue…._

"No, Don. I'm worried about you."

"How so, John?"

"Well…uh…Olivia and I were on Amsterdam last night interviewing a witness. We saw you having dinner."

Cragen picked up a yellow pencil and began to fiddle with it.

"I eat dinner almost every night."

"You were eating it with Otten."

"Yes, I was. You should have joined us."

_So I could put a hand on your other leg? Hell, no…._

"What's the problem, John? I've had dinner with each of you and all of you together. Last night was Judith's turn."

"Last time you and I shared a meal, you weren't wrapped around me like stripes on a candy cane. If IAB had spotted you last night—"

Cragen leaned back and folded his hands on his stomach. "I'm not worried about the rat squad."

"Don! After what we've been through with Internal Affairs, you damn well ought to be worried about them."

"But I'm not. Judith and I have done nothing wrong and this isn't your concern."

"The hell it isn't." John got up from his chair and placed his hands on Cragen's desk, leaning in to drive his words home.

"You've built a great team here. We've got the experience and the skills to handle anything that comes at us—we prove it every day. Our close rate is one of the best in the city, better than the other SVUs, and all of that comes from your leadership. I'm not letting you throw this unit down the toilet over some skirt."

Not a muscle moved, but Don Cragen's expression shifted from that of a concerned friend to that of a commanding officer.

"That's enough, Detective. I said this wasn't your concern and I meant it."

John watched his friend's face as he spoke.

_He really isn't worried, not one bit. I know he's not bullet-proof… if not him, then…._

Only a couple of hard swallows kept him from vomiting on the desktop.

_Otten is the safe one. IAB protects its own… and Don knows it, too. _

Cragen waved the yellow pencil under John's nose.

"Don't you have some cases to close?"

With that, Cragen turned his attention back to his paperwork.

John swallowed hard again, more to clear the taste of his knowledge than to empty his mouth. Without another word, he threw the door open and fled back to his desk.

"Something up between you and Cap'n, John?" Fin asked as he rushed by.

_Smart retort—quick, think of something…._

"Yeah," he responded. "He wants to develop the house as office space and I think residential co-ops are a better bet."

John snatched the newspaper from his desk and headed out the hallway door. It was still swinging when Judith entered.

"Is Detective Munch having a bad day?" she asked.

Fin looked up from his reading.

"Every day. Don't take it personal."

She put her purse in her locker then stopped by Fin's desk. "Where's Couch?"

"Just left on a lunch run. You can call him if you want something."

Judith shook her head. "Thanks, but I've seen too much food recently."

Behind her, Elliott headed for Cragen's office. Olivia put her mug down on her desk and left through the same door that John had just used. Fin noted her departure and beckoned Judith closer to him.

"Elliot says we may have hooked our rats."

"Oh, that's good." She tipped her head toward Cragen's office, where Elliot was talking to their CO. "Is he setting up tonight?"

"Only if Tucker is sure. They're checking now. He said the phone taps will go live soon, too."

Chloe, the unit's admin aide, walked past a file folder. She stopped at the file cabinets nearest Fin's desk and pulled a drawer open.

Fin raised his voice to a conversational level. "How was the funeral?"

"Exactly as Anna wanted. Everyone should die in bed at the age of eighty-two."

"Your former unit would be out of work."

"Be worth it."

Chloe slammed the drawer shut and walked out of hearing range. Fin returned to the main conversation.

"You free tonight if Tucker green-lights us?"

Judith nodded. "Anna was my daughter-in-law's aunt, not so close that I must observe _shiva_."

"So mourning rituals won't get in the way of your porno moves?"

Judith folded her arms across her chest and frowned at Fin.

"What is it with you and that phrase?"

Fin leaned back in his chair, a fierce scowl twisting his mouth.

"I'm working double shifts with no mention of OT, stuck in a van with Elliot and my favorite rat while you two get table service, great food, and star billing. Something wrong with my choice of words?"

"No, not at all," she said, unfolding her arms to wave off his displeasure. "It's fine with me."

Fin's grimace broadening into a smile. "It's Stabler's phrase anyway. He thought it up."

She shook her head as she realized Fin was pulling her leg.

"Well, I think we all should put in for the overtime; we definitely deserve it."

Judith placed her fist in front of her mouth to stifle a huge yawn. The hallway door swung open as Olivia returned.

"Someone needs some fresh air," she noted. "How about you and I head to the roof and I'll go over what you missed this morning—unless Fin's already filled you in?"

"Sure," Judith responded. "Anything to postpone canvass calls and paperwork."

Olivia crossed the squad room and went up the stairs. Judith made it as far as her desk before her cell phone chirped. She paused to answer it.

"Otten…what? Oh, no…okay—that might work. I got it."

She turned back to Fin and whispered, "Captain says to get in there right now."

Fin reached the office before she reached the top of the stairs. The grim frowns on Cragen's face as he sat at his desk and on Elliot's as he leaned against the wall opposite the desk, warned him that the news sucked.

He settled against the closed door, trying to look casual in case anyone was watching them

"What happened?"

"Olivia and John saw Cap'n and Judith last night," Elliot said.

"Shit."

Elliot nodded. "Amen to that."

"How we handling this?"

"With some hasty disaster recovery." Cragen told him. "Liv's probably confronting Judith right now. She'll admit to an affair then tell Liv that she will end it immediately. After she comes in here and breaks my heart, John and Liv should be happy."

"That's the best we got?"

Elliot folded his arms defensively. "Best we could slap together. John braced Cap'n about this just a few minutes ago; you saw Liv grab Judith before we could warn her. If it wasn't for cell phones, she'd be as unprepared as Cap was."

Fin turned to face Cragen.

"And if it doesn't work?" he asked, his voice a growl. "What if they tell everyone you two are screwing?"

Elliot sighed. "Then we continue the operation. What else can we do?"

"I have an idea," Cragen said, "but it involves Tommy Sullivan, an open field, and a case of hand grenades…."

9 June  
Roof of the One-Six

"…last item was the Hendricks case. We put Vargas in a line-up this morning and our witness picked him right out. Casey's talking to his public defender about a deal in exchange for the other two doers."

The sun shone straight down on the ledge against which Olivia leaned, her back flat against the stone. Judith stood sideways to the ledge, her arm resting on its warm surface, as she listened to Olivia's update.

"That should catch you up. Any questions?"

"I don't think so. I appreciate the update; Fin didn't say a thing about the shift meeting."

"Well, there is one other thing…."

_Yeah—now to figure out how to talk about it. No wonder John was stalling…._

Olivia straightened and moved to stand between Judith and the roof access door.

_I don't know her well enough to 'beseech her as a friend' so the direct approach is the only one left…._

"John and I saw you and the Captain last night. You seem to be…"

She drew in a deep breath, both for dramatic pause and to steady herself.

"…enjoying yourselves immensely."

Olivia kept her gaze focused on Otten's face.

_Stare blankly and I know you're about to deny everything. Shift your eyes away from me and you're going to lie. Keep your eyes on me and I might believe you…._

Judith stared straight at her. A sick smile curved her mouth, her lips parted as she shook her head.

"I'm still not sure how it happened. Captain Cragen asked me to discuss my experience, past cases and such over dinner. It felt good to be out, away from the house—we both had a great time. He knew I'd be free last night and he asked if I'd like to do it again. It felt like a date; we treated it like a date…."

"Did it end like a date?"

Judith's gaze shifted to the tar and gravel underfoot.

"Well…after a certain age, sex can be a bit…iffy…."

_Damn, she's blushing. It's been a long time since I've seen anyone turn that red…._

Olivia finished Judith's sentence.

"So nothing happened."

"Well, if you have to be blunt about it—yes, nothing happened."

Olivia pushed harder. "But not for lack of trying?"

"No, not for lack of…trying. I guess we got exactly what we deserved."

_Shit—how am I supposed to look Cragen in the face after hearing this? _

Anger at the unexpected stupidity of two people almost old enough to be her parents raged through her.

"And what were you planning to do about it?"

Judith turned away and leaned against the ledge, her face half-hidden by her open hands.

"As stupid as it sounds, I was hoping that Captain Cragen would be too embarrassed to mention it. Maybe the whole thing would disappear under all our embarrassment and go away."

Olivia examined her face, the droop of her shoulders and the way her body sagged against the ledge wall. Most of her anger drained away as she realized how miserable Otten felt about the indiscretion.

_Two lonely people connect and nothing goes right—okay, I've been there, done that… sort of…._

"Don't worry," she said. "I never wanted to discuss Cap's sex life and I don't plan to start today."

"You said Detective Munch also saw us." Judith sighed. "I might as well spray-paint the news across the precinct house myself."

Olivia drew herself up and folded her arms across her chest.

"You make sure it never happens again and I'll keep John quiet. Agreed?"

The older woman froze, as if unable to comprehend such good news. She blinked a couple times then let out a long-held breath.

"Agreed. I'll handle it right now. Thank you."

The last two words were whispered as Judith passed Olivia on her way to the access door. Olivia waited a few seconds then followed her down the stairs. She made certain that Otten had entered the captain's office before returning to her desk.

_Elliot cut me the same slack when Cassidy and I hooked up. Looks like it's my turn to be understanding…._

9 June  
Captain Cragen's Office

Judith knocked on the door frame and entered Cragen's office without waiting for permission. She waited for him to finish a phone call before speaking.

"Could you act like you're embarrassed?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Because I just told Olivia that last night was a one-shot that petered out, so to speak, and that we're both mortified about it. I figure that a couple minutes of awkward conversation should convince her that I' m telling you that we'll never do it again."

Cragen shot out of his chair. "You told Liv I couldn't perform?"

Judith shifted her weight from left foot to right and glanced about the room, looking everywhere but his face.

"I got into the moment and that's what came out."

"Great," he said as he collapsed into his seat. "I'm not only having an affair with one of my detectives, I'm also a failure at it. What else can go wrong?"

She stared at his telephone. "Don't even ask. If we spend the next day or two obviously avoiding each other, everything should die down."

Cragen nodded. "Tucker wants to skip tonight so he can make certain about the targets. Seems the chestnuts may not be ripe yet."

"Did you tell him that we'd been seen?"

"Yes. He was as thrilled about it as we are."

He sat there not looking as Judith while she stood there not looking at him.

"Think that's long enough?" he asked.

Judith nodded, her eyes focused on his golf bag in the corner. He picked up a piece of paper and held it out to her.

"Take Sofarelli and check out this complain. Man thinks his neighbor may be shooting porn in her apartment. Something about moaning and bright lights."

Judith snatched the paper and walked out without another word. Cragen watched her nod at Benson then gather her partner and leave the squad room. While Olivia's attention was on Otten, he caught Elliot's eye and nodded.

_That's taken care of. At least there's one consolation. When this all is over and we clear up the lies, I'll get to hear Chief of Department Thomas J. Sullivan announce to everyone that I'm not a dud in bed._

He sighed.

_Some days, the perks of this job are the only thing that keeps me going…._

9 June  
SVU Squad Room

_It's a good thing Elliot can't see my computer screen; otherwise, he'd ask why I'm taking so long to read this graph._

Olivia glanced up from her screen again and looked through the open door of Cragen's office.

_They're still talking. Neither of them look happy— Judith must be doing what she said she'd do._

She glanced left. Fin wasn't at his desk, but Munch was. He leaned back in his chair, chin propped on his hand, and watched both her and the scene in Cragen's office.

_Getting John to drop this won't be easy…._

The second after Otten left with Sofarelli, she stood up. Elliot laid his hand over his mug and shook his head.

"Elliot, I didn't offer to get you any coffee."

"You would have. You're that kind of person."

"Thanks, partner—I think."

Munch followed her to the soda machine.

"What happened?" he demanded.

She faced the machine as thought deciding between root beer and orange pop was the most important matter of her day.

"Judith just told Cragen that their affair is over."

"That's it?"

"In a manner of speaking. Do you really need all the details?"

He placed a hand on her arm and gently turned her away from the soda machine.

"It's not over until I'm satisfied—not after what I saw last night."

Olivia glared at him.

"You really are stubborn, aren't you?"

"I prefer 'doggedly determined' or maybe 'headstrong and handsome.'"

She snorted at that one. "Fine—Judith told me that she and Cragen hooked up last night and it…didn't go well."

That earned her an answering snort.

"She told you that Don failed to launch?"

"Yes."

His expression tightened, lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

"You bought that line of bull?"

"Do you really think she's a bald-faced liar? Scratch that—you do, but you're wrong. Judith was embarrassed, blushing beet red. I don't think she was faking that."

John tipped his head back to stare down at her.

"Don't you think her story is a bit convenient?"

Olivia drew herself tall and placed her hands on her hips, feet planted to hold her ground against his disbelief.

"Wasn't there something similar about your fourth marriage—you know, the really short one? You tell me if her explanation is 'convenient' or not."

Munch broke away from her gaze and frowned.

"No, sad to say, that part is very possible. So, Otten told you that she and Don aren't planning to repeat the experiment and you're satisfied—do I have it right?"

Olivia smiled her approval. "You got it. I also promised Judith that, if she ended it right now, neither you nor I would mention it again."

"You're kidding me. Otten's story is nothing like what Don told me. How could you make a promise like that?

"I can and I did and you're going to keep it."

He shook his head, eyes wide in disbelief at her demand.

"But, Olivia—if you had let me tell you everything before you ran off to confront Otten, you'd understand. We have to…."

"No, we don't, John. Not everything is a big conspiracy. This was just two people who didn't think it through and they're both sorry about it."

She stepped close, her toes touching his shoes, and spoke with firm conviction.

"Don't you mention this to anyone—not Elliot, not Couch, not Fin."

She turned away, striding back to the squad room with a string of muttered complaints about stubborn paranoid fools in her wake.

John stared after her until the squad room door swung shut behind her.

_I can't believe you bought this load of crap, Liv. Of course Otten lies well—she's a rat; it's required. After all the hassle over Karen Smythe, you should recognize one when she lies to your face._

He slapped the soda machine hard enough to rattle the coins in the change box

_This isn't over—I'll just have to find you more proof. _


	6. In the Company Ink

11 June  
309 30th Street, Astoria  
Surveillance van behind Martina's German Restaurant

Tucker had backed the surveillance van into the access to the restaurant's Dumpster—technically a violation, but they would be gone before New York's Strongest came to empty the bin. Across the alley, Martina's had the use of five parking spaces; the three middle spaces were occupied by cars on loan from the One-Sixteen's impound lot. The end space, the one by the back wall of a consignment store, held Cragen's Buick.

The last parking space was occupied by Fin's gray Taurus. Fin slumped low in the driver seat, waiting for confirmation that Tucker recognized any IAB agents in the vehicles cruising the alley to look for parking.

A blue Dodge Durango made its way down the dark alley.

"How about this one, Tucker?"

Elliot aimed one of the van's cameras at the windshield of the SUV, took several pictures, and captured one for the left monitor. It showed a male, mid-thirties, 5'8", dressed in an open-collar gray golf shirt.

"Bingo. He's the one who pulled the financials day before yesterday on Captain Cragen and Detective Otten—Detective Charles Eristoff. Chuck works out of Hudson Street, but he handles Brooklyn. Two years ago, he went through a messy divorce; his wife got the house, the kids, the dog—he got the bills."

"Okay. This one's the driver."

The second still showed a woman, same age and height as her passenger, behind the wheel of the SUV. She wore a dark-blue T-shirt and her face bore a slight resemblance to Olivia—same high cheek bones, but her hair was bleached and straight, cut just below her ears..

"God."

Not profanity, but a prayer that some higher being would remove the face from the monitor that Tucker stared at so intently.

"You know her?"

Tucker's answering nod resembled a shiver. He pointed at the screen.

"Sergeant Diane Wilkerson is my counterpart for Staten Island. I've worked with her for years—hell, she and Rob were at our anniversary party last month. I can't believe she's involved in this."

Tucker stared a moment longer at the screen, then turned away.

Elliot watched Tucker make a fist and swing at the wall of the van, stopping at the last moment to keep from making undue noise that might attract attention.

_He's all ripped up about this. Devotion to duty among rats—if I told Liv about this, she'd never believe it._

He set the comm unit to the operation's radio frequency.

Stabler: Chestnut One to Chestnut Two: that SUV is our target.

Tutuola: Next time they come by, I'm gone."

A few minutes passed before the Durango came down the alley again. Fin pulled out and the SUV backed into the freshly vacated space. No one exited the vehicle. As Elliot and Tucker watched on the monitor, the man raised a camera and aimed it at Cragen's car.

_Get a load of that camera…._

"Tucker—that camera IAB issue?"

The sergeant closely examined the monitor.

"I wish. It must have set Chuck back a good two thou."

"Two months' blackmail from Delgado and Henry." Elliot glared at the image on the screen. "He'd look good with it rammed up his nose."

"Yeah."

The two men watched as the suspect took some photos, adjusted the settings and took some more. The woman keep her gaze on the back door of the restaurant. Three taps on the side door warned them that Fin was back. He slid the door open and took the jump seat next to Tucker.

Elliot activated the link to Judith's earpiece.

"The targets are in position. Fin's back in the van."

Otten: We've just ordered dessert. I'll let you know when we're about to leave.

11 June  
Mouth of alley behind 309 30th Avenue

He stepped into the dark of the alley with a quick right-hand turn—one moment walking northeast on 30th Avenue, one moment vanished from there. A utility pole provided cover while he let his eyes adjust to the gloom. The alley ran past four buildings then widened to provide parking before it jogged right to exit on 31st Avenue. A security lamp over the parking spaces and caged yellow lights by two rear doors gave the only illumination.

When his eyes had adjusted, he began to search for the man who had summoned him there, moving smoothly from the cover of the pole to the first Dumpster, then to a stack of pallets halfway down the alley. From there, he could discern a dark figure barely visible against the deep blue of a trash bin.

He crossed to the man, who acknowledged him with a nod.

"You aren't easy to find in a dark alley, " he whispered.

John Munch glared at him.

"That is the purpose of covert surveillance, Couch—to see without being seen."

"So, what are we seeing?"

"You'll know when you see it. Watch that door—the one behind the large white van."

Couch checked out the door.

_Obviously the back entrance to a restaurant. Four cars, one van, one SUV parked. No one in sight._

"How long have you been here?"

"Almost an hour. I took a walk past the front of the restaurant ten minutes ago."

"Is this for an active case?"

"No."

"Is this another practical joke?"

Munch's expression dried up Couch's string of questions.

_He'll crack a tooth if he grits his teeth any harder._

Couch took another look at the scene in front of them.

_No one in sight, nothing unusual. I'll give John ten minutes then I'm going to demand answers._

11 June  
309 30th Street, Astoria  
Surveillance van behind Martina's German Restaurant

"Please pass this info on to Otten and Captain Cragen. I don't want Diane or Chuck to see me near them. They'll know something is up."

Tucker handed a folder to Fin, who sat on the jump seat next to him, then leaned forward to give one to Elliot at the console.

"This covers Eristoff and the two field associates who didn't report Captain Cragen on the eighth. I'll get you Wilkerson's jacket tomorrow."

Tucker waited until Elliot and Fin flipped to the photos.

"Bill Stanton, uniform out of the Two-Seven, and Greg Lau, detective with the One-Eight's RAM."

Fin's head jerked up from his reading. "Greg's a rat?"

Tucker's mouth curled in distaste. "Not for long."

"Damn. I've drunk beers with Greg."

"I feel the same about all of them; I damn near threw up when I saw Diane. If I had to pick four bent agents, it wouldn't be them."

He stared into space for a moment, mouth working behind tight lips until he settled on a frown and a sigh.

"But Diane is here with Chuck. Bill and Greg failed to report them; they told me they didn't see enough to support the rumor supplied to them."

Elliot stifled a laugh. "John told Cap he was wrapped like stripes on a candy cane around Judith. I'd call that enough."

"Let's hope it's enough," said Fin, "to get them blackmailed by these skels."

Judith's voice came through the speaker.

Otten: My date's figuring the tip now. Everything ready?

Elliot keyed his microphone. "Looks like. Suspects are in a blue Durango that backed into the space we reserved for them. We've spotted one camera. Plan to perform on Cap's trunk, not the hood."

Otten: Got it. We still on for Rainey Park afterwards?

Elliot started the feed from the camera aimed at the back door before answering.

"Yes. Tucker ID'd four suspects. We'll meet you there with that info and review how to handle the blackmail phase.

Otten: pause Captain says that sounds good. We'll be out in about five minutes.

"Okay." He turned around and announced, "Five minutes to show time."

11 June  
Alley Behind 309 30th Avenue

Light spilled through the opened restaurant door. A woman wearing a pale blue skirt and a floral blouse exited the restaurant. Her blonde hair brushed her shoulders and hid her face. She was followed by a paunchy man in khakis and a white golf shirt. 

_Hate to do this to you, Al, but Olivia will want corroboration and you have to find out sometime._

Munch stepped from the wall where he had been leaning to the edge of the trash bin that concealed them. Couch followed to stand next to him.

"That's Captain Cragen. Why are we watching—oh!"

The woman pushed Cragen against the side of the white van and started a long and very passionate kiss.

"That's why we're here," John told Couch. "Note how our unit's commander doesn't resist your partner's advances."

"My partner?" Couch shifted left, trying for a glimpse of the woman's face. "That's Judith?"

"You have another partner? She looks shorter in a skirt and with her hair down, but trust me—that's Otten snogging our captain."

Couch grabbed John by the arm and spun him around.

"How long? Why? When did you find out?"

"I don't know. Damned if I know. Benson and I spotted them three days ago. Otten told Liv that it was just a one-night stand."

John pointed to where Cragen had pinned Judith against the front of the van, one hand lost in her hair, the other planted firmly on her butt.

"A kiss like that takes plenty of practice."

Couch curled forward as though taking a direct kick to the belly.

_Poor kid... it's tough being partnered with a lying slut._

John placed his hand on Couch's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Al—but there's more. They act like IAB can't touch them and I know that Don's not a rat. That leaves me with the conclusion that Otten is IA—"

"No!"

"Wish I could say otherwise. Maybe she's here to catch Don out; Internal Affairs rides our ass worse than…"

Couch cut him off. "Look! They're—"

John turned toward Cragen and Otten then he propped an elbow on the trash bin and covered his face with his hand.

_I don't need to see this. I don't want to see this. What the hell is wrong with you, Don?_

"Yes," he said. "They are."

11 June  
309 30th Street, Astoria  
Surveillance van parked behind Martina's German Restaurant

The right monitor showed Judith perched on the trunk of the Buick, buttons undone and knees raised. Don Cragen stood just inside her knees, fully clothed behind the screen of her open blouse and full skirt.

"Nice separation with good rhythm," Tucker muttered as he watched the action. "Looks like he's really into it."

"You make this sound like the Olympics," Fin sneered. "Cap'n gets a 10.0 for form and originality."

Elliot pointed to the left monitor. It showed the IAB agents, Eristoff behind his digital camera taking picture after picture, Wilkerson aiming a video camera at Cragen and Otten.

"If they award even a 9.0, I'll be happy."

"So far, looks like they're buying it."

The right monitor showed Cragen and Otten "dressing" then getting into Cragen's car. Fin pulled his keys from his pocket.

"I'll tail the rats. If they follow Cragen, I'll call you on the radio."

Cragen's voice came through the speaker.

Cragen: Things look okay to you?

"Looked great from here, Cap. Tucker gives you a 10.0."

Cragen: What did the real judges give us?

"You had their full attention."

Cragen: Great. I'll look for my gold medal in tomorrow's mail.

"Fin's going to follow them—make sure they don't tail you."

Cragen: Then we'll see you and Fin at Rainey Park. Thanks, all of you. Great job.

"Thanks, Cap."

He keyed the mic off and watched Cragen pull out of the parking space and down the alley. Six seconds later, the Durango left, heading in the same direction. Fin yanked the sliding door open and sprinted for his car.

Elliot tipped back in his chair and stretched his arms and legs out, almost kicking Tucker.

"Sorry. I won't mind never seeing the inside of this van again."

Tucker grunted. "Fin likes it."

"Hey, it's a great set-up, but I'm ready to spend some time at home, see my kids, get caught up on my laundry, have a normal—"

Tutuola: Chestnut Two to Chestnut One: We got some serious shit.

Elliot flipped the mic switch. "What's up?"

Tutuola: John and Couch are on Thirtieth Avenue about twenty feet from the alley.

"Shit!"

Tutuola: Already said that.

Tucker left his jump seat and leaned close to Elliot and the microphone.

"If you think it will help, I can have them picked up. I can even arrange to 'lose' them until this is over."

Elliot jerked his head around to stare at Tucker.

_Talk about a gift…t he two of them out of our way until this is over… no need to lie about what we're doing, no hassles for Cap and Judith—yeah, but John and Couch never would forgive us._

"Fin? You want to weigh in on this?"

Tutuola: indistinct sound, possibly a sigh Don't tell John I ever thought about thinking about this.

Elliot echoed the sigh. "Thanks for the offer, but it will cause more trouble than anything."

"I just wanted fend off some of the mess."

Tutuola: You want me to call Cap'n and warn him and Judith?

"Are the rats following Cragen?"

Tutuola: No. Wilkerson let Eristoff out by a blue Elantra two blocks south of your location.

"Then swing back here and get me. We'll tell them at the park."

Tutuola: Copy that.

Elliot turned to Tucker. "You handle the van and the impound cars. We'll cope with the fail-out from John and Couch."

"How?"

"To be blunt, Tucker—I don't know."

11 June  
Vernon Boulevard by Rainey Park

"You're certain they saw everything?" Cragen asked.

"All I know, Cap'n," Fin said, "is that John didn't notice me when I drove past. Only way that would happen is if he was completely distracted by something important."

"In other words, us."

Silence followed Cragen's statement. He sat facing Fin, eyes deep set with worry. Judith was curled in the passenger seat, arms wrapped across her chest as though to protect her from the expected shitstorm. In the back seat behind her, Fin leaned back and stared at the headliner. Elliot rested his elbow on the open window and ran through their options.

_There are no options. We turned down Tucker's offer. Now, we have to ride it out._

"Worst case," he said, "you two spend the next week or so being dumped on by the squad and we let Chief Sullivan clean up the mess. Or…"

Elliot paused.

I know what you're going to say, but that doesn't make it the right decision… 

"…we stop lying to Liv, John, and Couch. We tell them about the operation."

Cragen turned on him, his voice sharp and angry. "You want to disobey a direct order from the Chief of Department?"

"It's a bullshit order, sir," Fin told him. "You know that."

"Yes, I know that. Tommy Sullivan once was a good cop. Now, he's the worst sort of brass. He can't remember how it feels to be a street cop needing his partner at his back."

Cragen fell silent and stared into space for a moment then turned back to Elliot.

"However, he is the Chief of Department and, stupid or not, you will follow his orders. Am I clear on that?"

_Only 'cause you say so, Cap._

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Let' s move on to the blackmail plans."

Fin pulled a sheet from the folder on his lap.

"Their income is down a thousand a month since they killed Delgado and Henry," he said. "Since they raised their demands, we're assuming they really need the money now."

Elliot joined in. "Given your two pay grades, I'm sure they're seeing visions of dollar signs."

"So," Judith asked, "you're expecting a demand as soon as tomorrow?"

"Yeah, they're sitting somewhere printing out your porn photos and figuring what's the most they can suck—"

Fin broke off his answer when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and checked its screen.

"It's John," he said as he flipped it open.

"What? That's too damn early…okay, I'll be there…no, I won't pick you up…I said it was too damn early."

He hung up. "Olivia's apartment, 6:30 a.m."

Elliot's phone rang next. He let it go to voicemail.

"I'll call John when we're done. Let's get back to the blackmail demands. Once those demands come, we'll wire the two of you and record the encounters. We're assuming that they'll meet with each of you separately, but it may be a joint meeting."

Cragen nodded. "So we meet with them, protest just enough to make it seem real then we give into whatever they want."

"You got it. For the money drop, we'll have full tactical backup—that's when we'll make the arrests, but it will be Fin, Tucker, and myself for the first meeting. You two okay with that?"

Cragen and Otten glanced at each other.

"I'm okay," Judith answered. "The only risk is their finding the wires and they've no reason to suspect anything at this point."

"We're nothing but horny cash cows to them," Cragen said. "Hardly a threat."

Elliot nodded. "As long as they keep thinking that way, it's all downhill from here."

"Sounds like you've got it well under control."

"Thanks, Cap. You got anything else, Fin."

"Yeah, two loads of laundry waiting to be done and an empty refrigerator. This operation can't get done soon enough to suit me."

Nods of agreement echoed Fin's sentiments.

"Just a few more days," Cragen told them, "and we get our lives back."

"Those days aren't going to be a picnic," Fin warned, staring straight at Otten.

She smiled back. "If I were back at my old unit, this wouldn't be an issue—no one would believe the accusations. It's only because I'm new here that anyone buys it."

"Yeah, you're being new is why it's all going to fall on you."

Judith's smile did not waver. "Fin, I'm not worried about being called a few names. It will be fine."

11 June  
Apartment of Alphonse and Hanan Sofarelli  
Queens, N.Y.

What sold this apartment to its current tenants was that it had a real dining room—not that the Sofarellis owned a dining room set. Instead, the room held a punching bag with a sand-filled base, a wall rack of rattan sticks, practice knives, and swords and a row of full-length mirrors mounted on the long side of the room.

Despite the late hour, Couch stood in the center of the room, clad in gray sweats, his image reflected by the mirrors as he ran through every _hyung_ he knew.

'Pyung ahn e dan', _the peace of mind form—yeah, right._

He stood with his weight on his back leg, then moved from high and middle fist strikes to a right-hand upper cut to a left-hand side punch….

_John told me the whole story… I still can't believe it._

Turn to another back stance and repeat…

_Everything she said about missing her husband…it was a load of crap._

He brought both fists to his left hip and performed a side kick and back-hand strike…

_And with Captain Cragen? That's asking for trouble…._

…landing in a front stance followed by a center knife-hand strike. He stepped forward and repeated the move …

_Except that IAB never rats out its own._

…then a spear-hand strike…

His _kiyop_, the shout at the turn of the form, came not from his breathing, but from his thoughts.

"DAMN!"

Back leg turn through 180 degrees with another center knife-hand strike, step forward, repeat…

_How am I supposed to face her tomorrow?_

A block that swept from face to thigh followed by a front kick…

_To sit across from her…_

Reverse punch, block, front kick, reverse punch, double-fist block…

_Picturing her and Captain Cragen…_

Ninety-degree turn to the right, low block, center knife-hand block…

_What do I say to her?_

Forty-five degrees to the right, high block…

_How do I work with her?_

Back-leg turn, low block, center knife-hand block…

_How do I trust a rat? _

Forty-five degrees left, leap to a high block…

"DAMN!"


	7. Utmost Contempt

12 June  
Residence of Olivia Benson  
Manhattan, N.Y.

They gathered in Olivia's apartment, Elliot and Fin on her sofa, John sprawled in an armchair on Elliot's left, Couch straddling a kitchen chair next to Fin. Olivia had served coffee, but the liquid grew cold in ignored mugs while she recited her conversation with Judith.

"She played me," she said, her voice thick with anger as she paced the floor before them. "She lied straight at me and I bought every damn word of it."

John gripped the arms of his chair so tightly that his fingertips disappeared into the fabric as he told of his talk with Cragen, including the captain's order to drop the matter.

"Don told me that he wasn't worried about the rat squad. After the beatings we've taken from them—Jill Foster, Karen Smythe, Cheryl Avery, time after time after time—the only way he can have safe public sex is to be shtupping one of them. IAB won't rat out its own."

Couch described what he and John had witnessed the night before.

"Last night was shameless," Couch told them. "They definitely weren't worried about anyone seeing them. John assures me that Captain Cragen isn't tied to IAB, so Judith has to be. There's no other explanation."

Elliot examined his former partner carefully. Couch's voice shook and his grip on the back of Olivia's chair threatened to shatter its spindles.

_If my partner was a rat, I'd be horrified and angry, too. How do we convince him it's not true without disobeying Cap?_

"You're all saying that Judith's a field associate," Fin said. "That makes no sense. She's been on the board of—what's that Jewish Emerald Society thing called?"

Munch supplied the answer. "The Shomrim Society."

"Yeah, that one. And she's an Otten; they're the reason Brooklyn South's cop bars serve Kosher food. It just doesn't make sense."

John levered himself from the armchair and stood before his partner.

"That's a myth; those cop bars aren't any more kosher than Mulrooney's is. And Otten wasn't an Otten at the Academy, which is where IAB does its recruiting. She turned rat there then she married into the Otten family. Given the skill she shows at lying, Captain Otten never knew his wife has a long hairless tail."

"Oh, man." Fin shook his head at his partner. "That's just crazy."

Olivia stood next to John. "You didn't see her lie to me. I'm with John on this. Otten's a rat."

Fin turned to Elliot as if gauging his reaction to this news.

_Good try, Fin—but they're convinced. We figured on concern, worry, some anger over Cap and Judith hooking up…but hatred...we have to rethink our plans._

Elliot stared at the floor as he pretended to mull over the facts presented to him.

_Who'd have thought John would label Judith a field associate? Or that Liv and Couch would believe it? If Fin and I let that rumor spread, we might as well paint a target on her and hand out ammunition._

He put a puzzled look on his face and glanced around the room. Three adamant stares met his gaze: Liv, John, and Couch, all ready to unleash at Judith the innate hatred that cops hold for Internal Affairs agents.

_I can't blame them—field associates are scum, pretending to be us while reporting everything we say and do. If I say anything, Cap will know I disobeyed; he'll figure it out when no shit falls. Tucker will know it, too…and it will get back to Chief Sullivan…. _

He caught Fin's gaze last. Fin held steady for a moment then lowered his head and shook it as though being forced to accept the truth of Judith's being IAB.

In a voice too low for anyone but Elliot to hear, he said, "Got your back."

_Sure, Fin—then we both get dinged. Don't know about you, but I can't afford a suspension right now…but I can't let our partners and Couch make this mistake. There's got to be a way through this… maybe…._

Elliot stood up. John and Liv edged back, giving him some space. Couch leaned back, watching closely for his reaction.

He chose his words carefully. "I can't let you do this."

The weight of their suspicion and distrust pressed on him, rocked him back on his heels: John, staring at him down his nose, stock-still and furious. Couch, ready to leap to the attack. Olivia, eyes wide with the shock of her partner's defense of a rat.

Elliot stood his ground and met each of their glares in turn.

"There's more to this than you know about."

_Trust me, guys._

"Fin and I are under direct orders to say nothing."

He stared longest into his partner's eyes.

_You know me, Liv. Think about it…figure out the truth. You can do it._

It took almost three seconds, but the hatred left her eyes. She blinked, a sign of her confusion as she tried to read the intent behind his words.

The kitchen chair slid forward as Couch bounded out of it.

"Whose orders?" he demanded. "Captain Cragen's?"

Olivia put her hand on his arm. "No, no—he would never order us to lie to our partners. It has to be someone higher up—real brass, not Cragen."

John towered over his partner, examining his still face with precise care.

"Fin would spit in the eye of anyone who ordered him to lie to me—right, partner?"

Elliot bit hard on the inside of his cheek.

_Damn, John. Either you know Fin too well or you have spy satellites in my church hall._

"Which means," John continued, "that whoever gave that order is far enough up the chain of command to overcome my partner's intransigent loyalty. I'm betting on Chief of Department Sullivan—can't get any further up the chain than him."

Couch picked up his mug, grimaced at the cold coffee and put it back.

"Okay," he said, "so Elliot and Fin were ordered to…to do what? Cover for the captain's affair?"

Olivia shook her head, her attention as firmly fixed on Elliot as John's gaze on his partner's face.

"No, not cover for them," she said. "Elliot and Fin wouldn't do that. They have to be working together. All four of them are in on something—whatever this is."

John snagged the kitchen chair and placed it in front of Fin, sitting close enough to see the slightest twitch of an eyebrow or lip.

"Last night's sex was faked, wasn't it? Otten was Vice; she'd know all the tricks, so to speak."

Elliot didn't see Fin nod or smile, but John settled back with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Okay, boys and girl—who cares if we canoodle out in public with each other?"

"Captain Cragen," said Couch.

"And Internal Affairs," Olivia added.

She stepped sideways to sit on the sofa arm by Elliot. Her gaze never left his face and he forced his mouth not to reward her correct guess with a grin.

"Try this one," she said, "Chief Sullivan wants Cragen and Otten to pretend to have an affair out in public where anyone can see them. What does that sound like?"

"More fun than I've had in weeks?"

"Can the laughs, John. This is serious."

"Yes, it is. It's also incredibly convoluted."

Couch perched on the edge of the vacant armchair. "To answer your question, it sounds like is a sting with Captain and Judith as bait."

The three detectives went silent as they took the time to consider the explanation, compare it to the facts they knew, and to study Elliot and Fin for reactions and hints. Elliot glanced at Fin, who sat unmoved under his partner's scrutiny. He then turned back to face Olivia's gaze.

_I don't dare twitch… Liv might take it as a 'no' and go off on a wrong path._

Seconds passed before Olivia turned to John and Couch.

"What do you think?"

Couch blew out a slow breath. "Maybe."

John nodded. "Let's put it together: Chief Sullivan orders our partners and Captain Cragen to run a sting operation to catch some crooked rats. For some reason, their orders include lying to us about it."

"Perhaps," Olivia said, "it's because they have no idea who the target of their operation is. Maybe they suspect both Internal Affairs agents and field associates. The fewer people who know about, the smaller chance of a leak."

"Which means that Judith's not a rat," Couch added. "She's a rat catcher."

Olivia gave John a hard glare. "If I can borrow Fin's favorite phrase, John pulled that one out of his bony white ass."

Munch leaned back, put his hands behind his head, and grinned smugly at the ceiling.

"It suited the facts as I knew them at the time. Now, we have a better hypothesis."

"Okay—does everyone buy into this?"

Couch nodded first. John first examined his partner's demeanor then Elliot's before signaling his approval.

"Let me note," he added, "that this changes nothing. We still have treat Don and Otten with the utmost contempt."

"Why?" Olivia asked.

"You just said it. If we don't react appropriately, whoever is in charge of this operation will think Elliot and Fin disobeyed a direct order and told us. They'll get long unpaid suspensions and I'll have to do Fin's paperwork myself."

"Oh." Her shoulders slumped as she considered Munch's comment then she slid from the sofa to her feet.

"Then that's what we do. They both get—how did you put it?—the utmost contempt from us. We come as close as we can to shunning them without jeopardizing our cases or our jobs."

Elliot held perfectly still.

_Don't grin…don't even think about grinning…but thank God and all his holy angels, it worked!_

Munch turned to Sofarelli. "You up for pretending to hate your partner because she pretended to have steamy sex with your CO?"

Couch grinned. "It beats hating her for being a real cheese-eating turncoat."

Olivia put both hands out in warning.

"We have to keep this among ourselves. If too many people believe that Cragen and Judith are hooking up, we'll never undo the damage. No mention to anyone that they're having an affair, fake or otherwise, and definitely no mention that we thought Judith might be a field associate."

Couch shrugged as though her message was obvious. To Elliot, John's reaction seemed half-hearted.

_Looks like he's pouting. If he was thrilled about Judith being a rat, then I need to have a talk with him, senior detective to older but junior detective. Maybe over a beer when this is over… which, thankfully, shouldn't be too much longer._

Elliot exhaled until his lungs emptied. Fin swallowed once. John spotted their signs of relief.

"So, another fine mess you've gotten us in—eh, Fin?"

Fin frowned at him. "Shit, man. I won't play Hardy to your Laurel. That's too messed up."

John tossed his head back and peered at his partner.

"What's wrong with using Ollie and Stan as an archetype for our partnership?"

"The look, for one. You got scrawny down, but that doesn't make me fat."

"Give me a ride to the house and I'll explain why the characterizations fit."

"Fine, but we're not stopping along the way."

Fin paused long enough to give Elliot a brief smile and nod, then he left. John stopped in the doorway to point a finger at Couch and Olivia.

"Utmost contempt—the order of the day."

The apartment door closed, cutting off his demand that Fin stop for crullers.

Couch turned to Elliot and Olivia.

"Bickering as a bonding technique", he said. "That one wasn't mentioned at the Academy."

"It works for them," Elliot noted. "You finding what works for you and Judith?"

"Trying to. Last night shook me badly. I hated Judith—hated what she was, what she was doing, hated the way she was lying about it. That's not good."

Olivia began to pick up the coffee mugs left on her tables.

"No, it's not," she told Couch, "but it shows that you're becoming partners. If it didn't matter to you, you wouldn't care what she did."

She carried the mugs around the corner into the kitchen. Elliot beckoned Couch to come closer.

"Judith knows the score," he said in a low voice. "She won't hold it against you."

"That's good to know. Guess I'd better head to the house and start heaping some contempt on her. See you there."

He called "Good-bye" to Olivia and left just as she returned from her kitchen. She plopped onto the sofa next to Elliot.

"Damn, you get the strangest assignments."

He twisted his neck, trying to loosen muscles tight with tension.

"Tell me about it."

"Better yet—when this is over, you tell me about it."

He grinned. "Deal. Want a ride to the house?"

"Sure."

Olivia left the sofa for the credenza by her door. There, she began to distribute her gear—handcuffs to back of waistband, cell phone in pocket—then she turned to face him, her gun and holster in hand.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not letting us lynch Judith for being a rat. We were ready to and it would been ugly."

"Yeah, it would have. Thank you, too."

"What for?"

He mimed zipping his mouth shut and she laughed.

"Oh, for figuring out what you aren't allowed to tell us."

She clipped her holster into place then turned, her head tipped to her left and a big smile on her face.

"That's part of my job. I'm a detective, remember?"

He opened the apartment door for her.

"Thanks for reminding me."

12 June  
Manhattan SVU Squad Room

"…Stephen Carnal, age 19, lives with his grandmother in Long Island City. He matches the description given by the suspect and he works at a coffee shop two blocks from where the attack took place. Priors are two counts of assault and one of assault with intent. He hasn't been at work or seen anywhere since that night. If you heard any word on him, let John or me know."

Fin stepped back and returned control of the shift meeting to Cragen.

"That's it for me," the captain said. "Anyone else have anything?"

A chorus of "No" answered his question.

"Then Judith, Elliot—my office. Everyone else, we're finished. Thank you."

The shift meeting broke up. Some headed for the coffee pot and others to their desks. Judith and Elliot had taken one step towards the office when Munch called out from his chair.

"Lucky Elliot—he gets to watch."

Olivia was facing John when he spoke.

_Perfect delivery… the pause before "watch", the lift of his eyebrow, the tilt of his head and the sneer in his voice… six words informing Judith that he saw it all…. _

Judith froze in mid-step, her eyes wide with shock, then she put her foot down and continued to Cragen's office without further reaction. Elliot smirked at John over his shoulder before he shut the office door behind him.

Olivia raised her eyebrows as she caught John's attention. He left his chair and sauntered over to her desk.

_I don't know whether to congratulate him on that line or wince on behalf of Judith._

John eased himself into her side chair and propped an elbow on her desk.

"Having a suspected rapist named Carnal is like having an arsonist named Match or a kidnapper named Ransom."

"Yeah, it's weird."

"Almost as weird as our current circumstances. Cragen, Otten, Elliot and Fin were lying to us. Now you, Couch and I are lying to Don and Otten and, if they ask about it, Elliot and Fin will have to lie to them about us lying. We've just trebled the levels of deceit in this _kerfuffle_."

He leaned close and whispered, "Isn't it fun?"

Olivia shook her head at him. "Not really. There's too many ways it can go wrong."

Fin joined in from his desk. "Ain't that the truth."

He then gave John a sour stare. "You going to help with these DD-5s or do I have to threaten you?"

John drew himself up to full height, grinned, and raised his left eyebrow, daring Fin to make his threat.

"Oh, man—can't you do anything simply? Fine…get your bony ass over here or I'll fix your TV so it only shows Fox News."

Munch's right eyebrow joined its mate. "That's not possible."

"Sure it is," Couch called from his desk. "I permanently disabled Country Music TV. It wasn't that hard."

Olivia hid a smile as John digested Couch's comment before meandering back to his own chair. He opened his memo book and smiled at his notes as though DD-5s were the highlight of his morning.

Couch took his mug and walked over to John's desk.

"Easiest way for Fin to screw up your cable," he told the older man, "would be to set the parental controls to only show Fox News. If he doesn't give you the PIN, you're screwed. He also could install an RF filter on your TV that blocks everything but that channel. If he has access to the building's cable box and can find the feed to your apartment, the filter could be installed there."

John's attention was fixed on Couch. Just outside his peripheral vision, Fin was making notes on a pad of paper. Olivia stifled a chuckle.

_John better pay his super now to guard that cable box. After that stunt with Couch's tires, I doubt anything he owns is safe…._

"You seem to know a lot about this," John said.

"My college roommate's brother was Ted Westberry. He's doing five to fifteen for selling cable descramblers over the Internet. My roommate told me all about it."

"That was one of my first busts. It's gratifying to show up out of the blue and find you guys talking about me."

The new voice caught everyone off-guard. It came from a man standing by the squad's entrance to Olivia's right.

_5' 10", early thirties, black hair in a brush cut, jeans, light blue T-shirt, denim jacket with gold shield on pocket —looks like it's also concealing a holster on the right hip. Asian-American—Chinese, maybe?_

Olivia saw Couch greet the newcomer with a nod, John with his normal suspicious glare, and Fin a brief frown before he stood up to greet him.

"Greg Lau—what brings you to SVU?"

"Nothing much—I had to deliver some evidentiary material to Robbery and decided to drop by, see how Sex Crimes was treating you."

Fin leaned against his desk. "It's treating me fine."

Olivia turned back to her paperwork when Fin began to introduce John and Couch. Across the room, Elliot and Judith were talking to Cragen at his office door.

_Wonder if Elliot told them that we know what's up… don't see how he could—Cragen will have his ass if he disobeyed a direct order—they're coming this way… better get ready to be rude to Judith._

Elliot sat down at his desk. Judith stood waiting by his chair.

"Liv," he said, "You got the Salton file? Cap wants Otten to review it."

Olivia fished the folder from the stack on her desk and handed it to her partner without looking up. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Judith's lips tighten as Elliot handed the folder to her without another word.

_Damn, I hate doing this…._

"And which of those lovelies is lucky enough to be your partner, Al?"

Olivia looked over her shoulder. All four detectives were looking at her, Fin and John from their chairs, Couch and Lau standing by them. Before Couch could answer Lau's question, John butted in.

"The old one. I hear she gets lucky all the time."

_Ouch! That left a mark… and I need to talk to John about what it means to 'keep this among ourselves.' _

By the way Couch flinched, Olivia knew that Judith had reacted poorly to John's crack, but she said nothing. Instead, she walked to her desk and begin reading the case file. Olivia checked the departmental news on her computer screen as the conversation continued behind her.

"So," Lau said, "Your partner isn't much of a prize?"

Couch shrugged in reply. "She used to be Vice; it's not a good fit here."

_Nice recovery, Couch. John owes you one._

"That's a shame. Well, I have to get back to the One-Eight. Good meeting you guys. Fin, we need to get together—drink some beer, shoot some bull."

"Yeah, we should do that."

Olivia glanced up. Elliot had propped a folder on his desk lamp and was using it as a screen to hide his watching of Fin and Lau.

Fin frowns at this guy when he arrives and Elliot watches him like a hawk… is he a rat sniffing their bait or someone witnessing us mistreat a colleague? 

She tried to catch her partner's eye, but he slid his attention from Fin and Lau to the folder before him, ignoring her gaze. She looked left, to where Judith could hear every word her partner said about her. Her attention was fixed on the file before her, but the tightness in her jaw and her grip on the folder belied her composure.

_I hate this…we're deliberately lying to people whom we work with and ought to trust…this had better be worth it._

The morning ran its course: case reviews, reports, follow-up phone calls. The phones were quiet, a godsend for a team perpetually behind in its paperwork. Couch got himself coffee twice, ignoring his partner's empty mug. The squad room banter excluded her except for the occasional zinger that Munch sent her way. Olivia spotted Fin hesitating over a cranberry muffin, the last one left of the two dozen Judith had placed by the coffee pot that morning. Although the other detectives had helped themselves, none of the five who had been at Olivia's apartment that morning had taken any.

_Shunning someone means ignoring her homemade muffins, too… damn._

Fin returned to his desk with only a full mug. Five minutes later, Lt. Crenshaw from Robbery dropped by to see Cragen. On his way out, he stopped by the coffee pot and grabbed the muffin. Fin's head swung a full 180 degrees as he glared at the man taking his muffin. Olivia hid a smile.

_Guess Judith's not the only one feeling pain over this._

Around 11:30, Captain Cragen came out of his office and walked over to Judith's desk. No one looked up, but five pairs of eyes tracked his movement and stayed focused on him as he leaned over the detective at her desk, his back to Fin and John.

"Judith, what are your thoughts on the Salton case?" he asked. "Something in the back of my head tells me this is like a case handled by Brooklyn South years ago—remember anything like it?"

Judith tapped the open file with her pencil. "Yes, it was 1991, early April, maybe. We were working…."

She glanced up and saw Couch staring at them. She glanced right and caught Olivia looking at her.

_Yeah, we're staring at you like you really are the front-page news you're pretending to be…._

Cragen followed her gaze, catching all five detectives' intent, flat stares in turn.

"Maybe we should do this in my office—let everyone get back to their own business."

Judith took the folder and proceeded the captain towards his office. Just as they reached the door, Munch cocked an eyebrow.

"Think they'll shut the blinds?" he asked in a stage whisper.

Judith froze. Cragen turned and glared at John before closing his door behind them.

John leaned back in his chair, basking in the glory of his own wit, as the four detectives turned their attention to him.

"John, you must like living dangerously," Elliot said.

Fin shook his head. "More like he's looking to get killed, taunting Cap'n like that."

Olivia pointed her pen at him. "There's a fine line between faking contempt and enjoying it, John."

Couch laughed. "If you can picture John doing anything quietly, raise a hand."

Fin snorted and John glared at him, but no one's hand moved. Couch grinned at their affirmation of his comment.

"We can glare, stare, and frown," he told them, "but someone has to speak up for it to seem authentic. At least John's quick-witted enough to make it funny. Once the air is cleared, Captain Cragen and Judith will see the humor in it."

I hope so," said Olivia. "Elliot, have you've discussed this with them?"

Elliot's expression went blank and he turned back to his paperwork without answering her.

_Should have known better. Elliot's not the sort to give up info. In any case, I'll leave the wisecracks to John. If Cragen does take offense, he'll won't aim his displeasure at me._

A few minutes later, Judith left Cragen's office and stopped at Couch's desk.

"I need to run some errands," she asked her partner. "You want something for lunch?"

Couch didn't look up. "No."

She stood there for a moment, the tight line of her lips the only reaction to his cut.

"Okay—one order of nothing with mayonnaise on it."

She walked quickly through the far door. As she left, John glanced at the clock as though noting the time.

12 June  
Seventh Floor: Robbery and SVU  
One-Six Precinct

Munch positioned himself to the right of the elevator, checked his watch, and waited.

_I should have time to hum the Minute Waltz once, maybe twice…._

Two minutes after he arrived, the elevator door opened and Judith Otten exited onto the seventh floor.

_There's a lot to be said for Swiss precision…and the staging is perfect—no one in the elevator with her, no one close by in the hall…I couldn't have arranged this better if I tried…._

Three long steps took him next to her as she passed the door to the stairwell.

"So, how's the unit slut doing?"

She spun on her heel to stand in front of him. The blood had drained from her cheeks and her jaw sagged open behind compressed lips—signs of shock that showed how unprepared she was to respond in kind.

_I don't mind taking advantage of an unready opponent…._

"I'd call you a whore, but I didn't see any money change hands. Do you take plastic?

Her face lost its shocked slack. Her eyes narrowed and she drew in a sharp breath before pushing open the stair access door. She stepped onto the landing and turned, waiting for him to follow.

_If you prefer privacy…._

"Sure, Otten," he said as he joined her on the landing, "but I'm not interested in what you're offering. Sex is something I've never had to pay for."

The door swung shut behind him. He leaned against the door, both for comfort and to keep anyone from barging in on them. Otten stood at the base of the stairs to the eighth floor, five feet from him.

_She is somewhere between shock and anger. I still think a murder police should be quicker on her feet… I'd know by now how I planned to react if I were in her shoes…._

"Why speak like that to me?"

He gave her a half-smile.

_Be bemused, condescending…it should drive her nuts…._

"What kind of sentence construction is that? 'Why speak like that to me?" You forgetting your English?"

"It says exactly what I mean it to say—why are you saying these things to me?"

_She thinks I really believe this, so she's going to stick to the script. I know she's lying, but she doesn't know that I know…this is fun, but gleeful grins aren't appropriate when one is chewing out the trollop who's screwing my CO….._

"Maybe I say these things because the labels suit your actions. Women who have sex in alleys are sluts and whores. Virtuous women have cleaner, more comfortable places for sex and they don't do their bosses in them."

She took a step closer, her gaze fixed on his face.

"You've been following me?"

_Whoa…where did that come from? You're supposed to get all defensive about screwing Cragen on his car. Damn, I hate it when female trains of thought change tracks…._

"I don't much care what happens to you, but Don is a friend and I won't let him get kicked off the force or blackmailed or hurt over the likes of you."

She blinked twice although her face held its tight ferocity. "This is not your business," she said slowly.

_That's right… speak to me like I'm an idiot… undervalue my intellect. It's much more fun to twist you into knots when you think I'm too stupid to do it…._

"Yes, it is."

He leaned forward, bringing his face down, even with hers.

_I'm invading so far into her personal space, she should back up… except she's already at the base of the stairs and she'd trip and fall. Hard to argue your point from the floor… now, for some righteous indignation…._

"It's my business because I've been on this squad for more years than you have weeks with us. Don Cragen is the grease in our wheel hubs, the calamine lotion on our poison ivy. He runs interference for us with the brass and the public so we can do our jobs. If you distract him from that, you risk ruining our chance to get justice for the victims, not to mention our excellent case closing rate."

He stayed in her face, watching her lips twitch and her eyes shift their focus back and forth.

_Must be hard to fake being angry when there's no real reason to be so. Wonder if she'll break out laughing or just run away… I can't see her keeping this up for too much longer…._

"Maybe Don needs that distraction. I know from David that—"

"That what? Sex in alleys is fun? Attracting the attention of Internal Affairs is exciting?"

_Let's see how far I can push this…._

"Buicks are more comfortable than beds? Making baby Cragens is a hoot? Of course, maybe you used a condom. I didn't notice Don putting one on, but I might have blinked."

_Wow… I didn't think her eyes could get any wider… let's stay on this a while longer…._

"Don's Irish so there's no genetic problems. Of course, he's also Catholic. I tried marrying a Catholic; it didn't work. Maybe it would be better if you stuck to your own kind."

Her eyes narrowed as the color again vanished from her cheeks. She drew in a deep breath and moved toward him, her right hand held up and out from her side as though she might strike him.

_Oops… must have gone too far…._

"Which kind?" she demanded. "The kind I don't look like? Is that what this is about—I should have spent last night with you and not Don?"

He leaned back on the door and out of her range, folding his arms to look casual, but stern.

_Hell, no…. with that expression on your face, you look like all four of my ex-wives rolled into one. _

He forced a chuckle. "Do I look like the quickie by the Dumpster type?"

"Yes, you do. Your jokes, your comments, your personal stories—everything screams, 'Hey, I'm a bombastic, insecure, four-time loser and I'll take whatever I get.'"

His turn to gape at her, to feel the cold pierce of a well-aimed taunt, to hear a small voice deep inside his brain say, "You know, she's right." Shock morphed into anger as Judith continued.

"…if you think I'd rush into your arms, you aren't anywhere near as bright as people keep telling me you are."

…_insecure, loser, not bright…_

He shoved his index finger at her nose.

"What makes you think I even consider you? I've had beautiful, intelligent women—"

"Past tense."

The finger and the arm attached to it fell back to his side.

_Two words… you just summed up my life… past tense, completed action, not going to happen any more… all over… declared so by the bitch who wants the last thing I have… my shield…._

Anger morphed into rage as he balled his fists.

"Just like," he said, his words precise and acid-dipped, "you and David."

Her eyes glazed and, for an instant, he thought she'd crumple, break under the weight of rage and grief, but her head jerked back up, a sneer contorting her mouth. They stood, two feet apart, fists balled, focused on each other's eyes. He lost all sense of her as a woman and colleague as he smelled her anger, felt the heat of her rage, knew that she sensed the depths of his hatred for her with every breath and pulse of her heart.

_Make a move… say a word… twitch… give me a reason…._

The phone in his pocket rang, shattering the vile connection between them. He snatched it out and flipped it open.

"What?"

While he listened, he saw Otten take a step back. The steel left her posture and she drew in a deep breath, but her gaze never wavered from his face as she shook with unexpressed rage.

"Be right there."

He kept the closed phone in his hand, wishing that he could hurl it into her face, smash it against her narrowed eyes and her tight-lipped mouth.

_But the moment has passed. Whatever I may not be any more, I am still a detective and my partner just called for me._

He reached behind him, pulled the door open, and left her shaking on the landing.


	8. Seventeen Percent of Takehome

A/N: Warning—chapter contains a lot of arithmetic….

* * *

12 June  
Lounge above the SVU Squad Room

After the door closed behind Munch, Otten ran up the stairs to the eighth floor then to the lounge. Below her, she saw him grab a file from his desk and follow Fin out the door.

She sat on the couch and rested her head on both hands. Minutes had passed and she still was trembling.

_He has been on my back since I got here… doesn't like my age, my looks, my background, my experience… fine, I've coped with sexism and bigotry before. He's upset because he thinks I'm screwing our CO—fine, I can handle that, too… but no attacks on my family… they are off-limits… no taunts about having to adopt our children… no hearing David's name from his lips… it's not my fault he doesn't have family of his own… not my fault he hates what I look like… not my fault he's got so much baggage he has to dump it on me…._

She glanced at her hands. The trembling had stopped. A few more moments and she would be calm enough to head back to her desk and whatever the afternoon might hold. She turned to look at the squad room below: her partner at his desk, Benson at the file cabinets in Interview Two. Fin was still gone, as was Munch.

_Everyone here likes him… certainly don't see why… sarcastic, nasty, bitter… but I can't swing another transfer to get away from him… that I got this one at my age is close to miraculous… I have to make my stand here… can't let him drive me out… try to remember that he is excellent at his job… even if he is a waste of space as a human being…._

"You okay?"

_Oh, great… Cragen…._

She took a deep breath before looking up.

"Yes. I'm fine."

He pulled over a chair from the table and sat down facing her, positioned at exactly the correct distance for a commanding officer to be from a female subordinate. His brow furrowed and his eyes were dark with concern as he examined her face.

"You don't look all that fine."

Judith managed a small smile.

_Time for an understatement…._

"One of Detective Munch's taunts was a bit personal. We had words."

"Want me to talk to him? Tell him to lay off? Maybe challenge him to a duel over your honor?"

The mental image of them dueling, a paunchy, bald Luke Skywalker battling a tall, unmuscular Darth Vader in sunglasses, made her chuckle.

"No, it's okay. I can wait for Chief Sullivan to straighten everything out when this is over."

"That won't come a minute too soon."

The deep sigh accompanying his words told of the stress he also was feeling.

_It's got to be worse for him—they're his people, been with him for years and have been through so much with him… I will not add my troubles to his…._

"It can't be too much longer," she said, "a couple of days at the most."

"Yeah." He nodded then said, "If you're okay, I'll head downstairs. You take you time and come down whenever you're ready."

She smiled again, this time in true gratitude for his concern. Cragen put the chair back and left with one last glance to make certain she was all right.

_Decisive, fair, does what he can for his people… David's high opinion of him is justified… definitely better than Lt. Morton, even if I have to endure Munch in the bargain…._

12 June  
Captain Cragen's Office

Chloe's polite knock interrupted Cragen's review of his unit's statistical summary of the previous week's crime complaint, arrest and summons activity with its written recapitulation of significant cases, crime patterns and police activities.

_Damn the weekly CompStat Report. One P.P. wants us to live and die by the statistics… they forget we deal with living, breathing victims, not numbers…._

"Captain, here's the inter-office."

He took the stack of large envelopes from her.

"Thanks, Chloe."

"You okay? You look tired."

"Comes with the captain's bars. The second I pinned them on, I lost four weeks' sleep and never got them back."

She laughed politely and left him to the envelopes. He sorted them into two piles—"read and respond ASAP" and "ignore until someone complains".

Halfway through the stack, a plain kraft paper envelope with his name printed in block letters stopped his sorting.

_No return address, no indication of who sent it or from where… maybe it's fan mail from a rat…._

He took a tweezers from his drawer and used it to undo the string clasp. Holding the envelope by its lower edge, he let its contents slide onto his desk.

_Wow..._

The photos were in order: Judith pinning him to the van, him kissing her with one hand on her butt and the other tangled in her loose hair…

_Nearly knocked her ear piece off._

…the two of them pausing for another kiss in front of the van, him pressing her against his car as he unbuttoned her blouse…

_Very convincing..._

…him lifting her onto the trunk of his car…

_I look turned-on; I felt like I'd thrown my back out._

…and the last showed them lost in the throes of passion.

_I didn't think we'd look that real. Perps better take a deal—I don't want these picture anywhere near a courtroom; someone's certain to leak them to the papers._

The last photo had a large yellow sticky note attached:

LOADING DOCK  
324 BRYANT  
BRONX  
6/13 2PM

_Neat block lettering, done by hand with a felt-tip marker and a straight-edge. Almost no chance we'll get anything from it._

He took a large evidence bag from his desk and slid the envelope, the note, and the photos into it. After sealing and marking it, he placed it at the bottom of his file drawer and locked it. He then punched a number into his cell phone.

"Elliot? I have the location and time for the meeting. You're with Tucker? Good, you can relay the info for me. Photos? Yes, there are photos. How are they? If I had grandchildren, I'd order copies for all of them. Ready?"

He recited the address and time.

"It's an hour after Judith's meeting?"

He looked out at Judith's desk. Her chair was empty, but she was standing at the bank of lockers. He caught a glimpse of orange envelope inside clear plastic before she closed her locker door.

_I'm furthest from the door so I get my mail last. Rank does have its privileges._

He listened as Elliot told him the surveillance logistics were under control, that Chief Sullivan would be updated and that he was bringing Wilkerson's jacket and the financials for all four suspects back to the precinct house with him.

_And that signals the beginning of the next round… I wonder how much blackmail we'll be asked to pay…._

He opened the calculator function on his computer and did some figuring.

_Hmmm… they were demanding $750 each from Delgado and Henry before they were killed, which works out to be about seventeen percent of average take-home. Seventeen percent for me would be… ouch—$1350 per month._

Cragen leaned back and considered that amount.

_It might be more… they have my financials, so they know what I have in the bank, retirement account, investments, that my house is paid off, how much Marge's pension and insurance were… hell, they could demand thousands up-front then hit me with a big monthly. Maybe the financials Elliot has will tell us something about how they use the money and why…._

He frowned at the calculator pad displayed on the computer screen.

_Judith's in the same boat as me… David's pension and insurance money will show up in her financials… seventeen percent for a Detective First Grade is… $1055. Oh, yeah… we look good for at least $2400 a month—$900 more than they were leeching from Delgado and Henry. Hope Tucker has enough in his petty cash…._

He pictured himself whipping that much money out of his wallet.

_I might have thirty dollars on me—I bought lunch today and stopped for groceries on the way home last night… I'm damned glad this isn't for real. I don't know what I'd do if faced with that decision—pay the blackmail or getting ratted out….._

He looked around his office, seeing the photos, the memorabilia, the stuff that had accumulated over the course of his career.

_Imagine being taken out of here in disgrace, dragged out in front of the people I'm supposed to be leading, stripped of rank, pension, dignity and reputation… sure, I have money set aside, but I'd never get work again… nothing honorable, not even security guard… how would I handle that?_

His gaze strayed to his right-hand desk drawer, the one with the vodka in it.

_Nothing left but the bottle… yeah, I can see that happening. Faced with that future, I'd pay the money… hell, I'd probably kiss the blackmailer, too. I have to remember how this feels when I face these bastards… it will help convince them that I'm caught in their trap and not them caught in ours…._

12 June  
Residence of Judith Otten  
734 Westheimer Street, Brooklyn

Unlike her partner, Judith had a dining room set, Danish Modern rosewood with eight chairs, breakfront and buffet. That night, the table was strewn with copies of bank statements, pension summaries, credit reports, several calculators, four mugs of coffee, a stack of napkins, and plates of cheeses, fruit, and muffins.

"Looking for the Hudson Bank statement for Lau, Judith?" Elliot asked. "Try under that folder. You should have seen Fin's face when Crenshaw scarfed the last of your muffins. I thought he'd shoot him dead right by John's chair."

Fin scowled at Elliot's teasing.

"My luck, John'd catch the bullet and I'd end up with a normal partner. Where's the summary on Eristoff's second mortgage?"

Tucker handed him the printout. Judith had found a way for him to be there as they searched the suspects' finances to look for reasons behind the blackmail scheme. That it involved his parking the next block over and climbing two fences made Elliot wish someone had taken pictures.

_Just one shot of him hung up on a fence like Steve McQueen in "The Great Escape"…._

The IAB agent didn't look the worse for it as he combed through Bill Stanton's bank statements. Judith had Lau's reports; Fin, who had the most training in accounting, had Eristoff's while Elliot looked over Wilkerson's reports.

_Wish my finances were this clean. All bills paid on time, no finance or late charges, money put in savings every month; she even tithes to the First Universalist Church of Staten Island._

"Hey, Tucker," Elliot asked, "Wilkerson ever marry?"

Tucker shook his head. "She has what she refers to a 'beau'. Rob's a dentist with a wife and three grown kids. It's an open marriage; Rob and his wife see other people socially. I assume there's sex, but who knows?

Judith straightened in her chair and raised an eyebrow at Tucker.

"That doesn't bother Internal Affairs?"

"Nope. Rob's a great guy; I've been fishing off Long Island on his boat and he and Diane were at Joan's and my anniversary party… what are you guys staring at?"

Elliot realized that he was gaping at the IAB agent. He closed his mouth and glanced at his coworkers. Judith looked confused; Fin's expression veered between horrified and sick.

"Let me get this straight," Fin said. "All lifestyles are equally valid except the one where a cop has sex with someone who's on the job?"

"I don't agree with all that PC crap; I just enforce the department rules. I've know Diane for six years and Rob Simkins almost as long. They're good people—shit, Diane was good people. I don't know what she is now. You find anything in her financials to explain this?"

Elliot tossed the report he was reading on the stack before him. "Cleaner than a dog's tooth. Not even a movie late fee."

Judith shook the printout she was holding. "I can't say the same for Greg Lau. He was a day late and more than a dollar short."

Fin chuckled. "Sounds like Greg. He says 'Let's go for a beer', but he means 'I'm outta here when the tab's due.' He's never willing to pay."

"Sort of like John, huh?" Elliot asked.

"Naw—bar bills don't agree with John, but he makes it up in other ways."

"Anyway," Judith said, reclaiming everyone's attention, "Lau's credit cards had large balances; they don't now."

She held out his credit cards' summary for the three men to read. Lau owed over $32,000 in February, 2005. Over the next seven months, the outstanding balance had been paid off.

"He also paid off his car," she said, "and bought a restored 1962 Jaguar E-type; he's current on that loan."

_A detective who can afford_ _an XKE?_

Elliot cleared the lump of envy from his throat with a cough.

"That had to set him back sixty, seventy thousand. Fin, Tucker—you know he had a vintage Jag?"

Tucker shook his head as Fin said, "If I ever saw Greg in that ride, I'd make him pay for every beer he'd ever stuck me with. What payments he make on those bills?"

Judith shuffled some papers.

"First two months, about one thousand. The next month was $2800, then it increased to just over $6,000 until the balance was under $100. Same on his car loans; six thousand monthly until his X-Terra was paid off then he started paying that same amount on the Jaguar."

"That fits with Stanton," Tucker said. "His bills and credit balances weren't that high, but he paid them off at about the same times and amounts."

"Where's the money going with him?"

"Looks like an investment account. He has two kids; maybe he's saving for college."

Elliot sat up. "We agree that the field associates—probably the junior members here—are raking in $6,000 a month from blackmail?"

Nods from everyone signaled their assent.

"I almost wish I could stomach that line of work," Tucker said. "My credit cards could use that sort of attention."

Judith gave a rueful sigh. "I remember something about virtue being its own reward."

All three men snorted their derision at that sentiment. Fin voiced their thought.

"Try telling that to a bill collector."

"Okay," Elliot said, bringing them back to task. "We got two people getting six thou, one apparently taking nothing—that leaves Eristoff. Fin, are you getting anywhere with him?"

Fin tossed a sheaf of statements on the table.

"Sure as shit regret telling you about those accounting classes. This guy's finances are all messed up. I can tell that he's not paying his child support out of his own accounts. Last check he wrote his wife was March, 2005; it was for $2500. There's no garnishment or orders to pay, so maybe he's forking it out in cash."

"Is he paying off his bills?"

Fin fished three statements out of the stacks before him. "Yeah. He paid off and cancelled two credits cards last year, another this year. Looks like he's getting…."

He grabbed a calculator and punched in some numbers.

"Each month, he's paying $3600 to credit cards or loans. Add his support payments and you get $6100."

"That's about the same amount as Stanton and Lau," Judith noted. "Equal shares?"

Fin pointed at the plate of fruit. "Except where does Wilkerson's share go?"

"Don't know," Tucker said, holding the plate out for Fin. "Assuming she takes one, they're bringing in over $300,000 per year."

Elliot whistled. "No wonder they used murder to keep the rest in line."

Fin said nothing for a moment while he concentrated on the keys of his calculator then he looked up at Elliot and Tucker.

"There are twenty-five couples being blackmailed by these rats."

Judith peered over at the calculator display. "How did you get that number?"

"Figured back from the six thousand-plus per month each participant gets; I threw Wilkerson in, too—she's putting that money somewhere, even if we can't find it. Divide by the $500 per month Delgado and Henry each paid and I get fifty payments. That's fifty fellow officers on the hook so these skels can buy fancy English cars."

Judith said, "And, when we're finished here, Internal Affairs gets all fifty of them."

"After being blackmailed and threatened for months, maybe years." Fin glared at Tucker and added, "It don't seem right."

Elliot and Judith joined Fin in staring at the IAB agent.

_Talk about looking guilty…he's hunched over like he's afraid of a beating…or of being forced to admit his department is wrong on something…._

"Yeah, it probably doesn't," Tucker said.

That number seem right to you, Tucker?" Elliot asked.

Tucker's mouth twisted like he was sorting the possible answers with his teeth.

"Don't tell anyone I told you, but it's closer to thirty than fifty. They're not all uniforms."

Fin nodded. "So some of them earn more and are coughing up more. That makes sense."

He picked up a peach slice from the plate by him and turned his attention back to the report before him. Judith held her gaze on Tucker a moment longer then reached for a chuck of what Elliot thought was Swiss cheese, but Judith had called _Emmentaler._

"Look," Tucker said with a small smile, "I promised the wife I'd get home before midnight. We set for tomorrow?"

_Smiling? Either he's relieved we didn't demand more info from him or he's starting to like us. I don't want to be liked by a rat…._

"Yeah, we're set. We'll rig Judith for sound at the house," Elliot reminded everyone, "then Fin and I'll meet you at noon across the street from the meet. We'll record everyone's arrival and monitor Judith during the meeting from the van. Fin will meet Cap with his wire at 1:30 p.m. at Drake Park. He'll also meet Judith there after her meet's over."

"Did you arrange to patch Judith's feed to me via handheld?" Fin asked. "Be a good idea if Cap'n knew what happened with Judith before his shakedown starts."

"It's taken care of. Same call sign as before."

Judith said, "We're meeting at a defunct trucking company; no one should be there. Can't we get a look inside the place beforehand?"

Tucker grimaced. "Where do you think I'll be before noon? If you guys weren't still on day-shift, we could do a thorough search. As it is, Stabler and Captain Cragen will have all they can do covering for your absences."

"You'll get me the layout before I go in for the meet?"

He nodded. "You'll have whatever I can find out. If I can get inside, I'll make a sketch. I tried to get DeMichelis to send someone to the Building Department for the plans, but he nixed it—said Chief Sullivan's orders didn't include delegating this operation's errands."

Tucker got up from the table.

"And on that note of support from my superior, I've got to leave. Judith, thank you for the coffee, the food, the hospitality, and the interesting path to your house."

She laughed. "Sorry for that, but you wanted to avoid my front door and everyone locks their gates when they leave for vacation. Be glad they also board their dogs."

He chuckled at that then turned serious. "I'm sorry the word got out about you and Captain Cragen. Stabler, I'll meet you and Fin at noon. Call me if anything comes up."

He said his good-byes and left. Judith tidied the stack of paper before her.

"Sergeant Tucker almost is an all-right guy," she said.

"Yeah, a likable rat," Elliot agreed. "Now that he's gone, we need to talk about Wilkerson. I don't care how wonderful he thinks she is, nobody works a blackmail scheme for free."

"Maybe she gets off on hassling adulterers?" Judith guessed.

"Be safer," Fin replied, "to write letters threatening them."

"In the copious free time I have thanks to my being ignored by all of you," Judith said, smiling to soften her words, "I'll pull Simkins' financials. Maybe Wilkerson is funding Rob the Dentist's open marriage and fishing boat."

"Sounds good," Elliot said while he put papers back in their folders. "Let me know what you find. Anything else?"

Fin spoke up. "Judith, my partner giving your trouble?"

Her answer was preceded by a brief hiss of drawn breath.

"You heard the things he said today. It's nothing I can't handle."

"You fight with him today around lunchtime?"

"Um…one of his taunts got a bit personal. I told him so. That's all it was. Did he complain about me to you?"

Elliot looked her over carefully.

_We've already figured out that she lies well—it takes a lot of skill to fool Olivia. It's a very useful skill for a detective…but not when it's used against us… did she hiss in surprise that Fin knew or because she'd wanted time to figure out her answer?_

"No. He didn't complain at all. Don't worry about it."

Judith nodded as she finished packing up Greg Lau's financials. Fin's expression remained placid while she was answering him and while he attended to his own stack of papers.

Outside, after they had said their good-byes and left, Elliot stopped by Fin's car, catching him before he shut the driver's door.

"Fin, is there something wrong between John and Judith?"

"Hard to say. Couch pegged John; he can't do anything quiet. Piss him off and he groans and kicks, bitches and grumbles. You heard John this morning slagging Judith every ten minutes. After lunch, he's all tight-lipped and silent."

Elliot leaned against the finder and watched Fin consider his partner's actions that afternoon.

"Probably she pinned his ears back for him. He doesn't take that well, especially if it reminds him of an ex-wife or three."

"Yeah; that sounds like John. I won't worry about it, then. See you tomorrow."

He started up his Jeep and followed Fin down Judith's cul-de-sac.

_Can't say I'm thrilled about one more day in that van…it's the meet after this one that will be interesting…full tactical take-down of the perps when the money is handed to them. We've been planning that for days—all we need is location and time. Tomorrow, for us at least, will be a snap…._


	9. Shakedown on Bryant

13 June  
SVU Squad Room  
12:45 p.m.

_Toxic… that's the word I've been looking for… toxic describes the mood here perfectly._

Olivia stuck her fork in her Greek salad and looked around the room at her fellow detectives, officers, and coworkers. The uniforms and admin assistants had picked up that something was not right; it showed in their sideways glances and snatches of conversation that she overheard among them.

"Cragen under investigation or something?"

"What'd you mean?"

"No one's talking to him. That new detective—the female one. She's getting the same treatment."

"You think they're…?"

"No! Like, ew!"

_Yes, people are starting to notice. Maybe we should tone it down…._

Munch already had, if his lack of comments aimed at Judith was any measure. He spent the morning sitting stiffly at his desk, chair turned so his field of vision did not include her. Otten had returned the favor by consistently taking the long way around Fin's desk to get to the other side of the room.

_She did it again when she left—walked past my desk to go out the door. She didn't mention lunch… guess she figured out we won't bring anything back for her…_

Elliot also hadn't mentioned lunch when he and Fin left together an hour earlier.

_Cragen sent them somewhere… right before he headed downtown for a command performance for Bureau Chief Beale…._

She turned back to her salad. Behind her, Couch dug into his burger while reading a file and John ate his tuna sandwich in silence.

_Strange having our partners doing something secret without us… scary, too. When one of us is missing—court appearance, vacation, sick day—we fill in, regroup without thinking; we're that much a team. With half of us gone, it's like a missing leg… our balance is gone. Hope nothing major comes in… Couch is still green and John's in such a snit, I don't want to work with him…._

Elliot's empty desk drew her attention back from John's sullen quiet.

_I don't like this at all... secrets, lies, it makes me uneasy. I'll be happier when this is over…._

13 June  
Drake Park  
1:40 p.m.

Fin's gray Taurus was parked on Longfellow Avenue, the landscaped greenery of Drake Park to the west, Shelly's Auto Salvage to the east. He and Judith sat in the front seats. They had done the debrief via radio with Stabler and Tucker; now, they were waiting for Captain Cragen to arrive.

_I don't like the way she looks… tired and worn… at her age, think she'd know that saying everything's fine don't make it fine…._

"You and Couch on-call last night?"

Judith nodded, but said nothing as she continued to stare through the side window at the trees in the park.

_I get enough attitude from John… need to grab her attention…._

"Girl, don't you know women are supposed to be talkative?"

She did a slow head turn, eyebrows raised high.

"'Girl'? I'm old enough to be your…."

The eyebrows dropped while she did some mental figuring.

"…your older sister and I'm not the chatty type."

_Yeah, I know… but Cap'n asked me to make sure you fit in with us and things aren't right…._

"Working with John, quiet's become unnatural. Humor me—how things going with you and Couch?"

She resumed staring at the trees.

"As of last week, it was going well. We were learning each other's quirks and foibles and starting to form a coherent whole. Now…."

Her shoulders slumped as she drew in a deep breath.

"We had a call on a rape at four this morning. I was at my parents' place in Washington Heights, so I arrived first on-scene. When Couch arrived twenty minutes later, I was with the victim so he started on the witnesses and the first on-scene. We worked for almost an hour without saying a word to each other. Each time I looked his way, he stared at me as though I contaminated the air he breathed just by being there."

She looked straight at Fin.

"You four have been together long enough that mutual trust carries you over the rough spots. Couch and I have less than a month together; there isn't any slack to cut yet. No matter how Chief Sullivan explains this operation, the damage has been done. We won't be the team we could have been."

Judith turned back to the view outside the car and shrugged.

"Serves you right for asking someone with only four hours' sleep to humor you."

Fin frowned as he stared at the same trees.

_I should tell her that Couch's condemnation is faked… might help her deal with it. She's good enough to keep up the act even knowing everyone else is faking… on the other hand, it's only a couple more days…._

Captain Cragen's maroon Buick pulled in behind them. He got out and opened the Taurus' back passenger door. Judith acknowledged his arrival with a nod.

Fin greeted him with "Cap'n, you're running late."

Captain Cragen slid into the back seat.

"Beale," he said in explanation.

Fin grimaced as he handed Cragen a tiny microphone attached by a thin wire to a small battery pack and a length of surgical tape.

"Open your shirt and tape the battery by your tie knot. Run the wire below your tie. It's already live."

Cragen pulled his jacket lapel out of the way, loosened his tie and undid the top three buttons of his shirt. He attached the wire with the tape then he redid the buttons, leaving the tie loose about his neck.

"Look okay?"

Fin nodded and continued his instructions.

"We're out of range here. When you get in sight of the van, start talking. If Elliot doesn't hear anything from you when he sees your car, he'll open a van door. That's the signal for you to come back here for a tech check."

"Got it. Judith, I got Tucker's description of the outside of the building before I left. How'd it go with you?"

"Nothing unexpected," Judith told him. "There was a man and a woman behind a counter just inside the door. The only light was from skylights that lit them from behind and a flashlight that they held. I never saw their faces, but Tucker IDed them as Wilkerson and Eristoff from their voices. They showed me the set of photos and told me that, if I didn't pay them $1200 on the fifteen of every month, copies would go to Chief DeMichelis, Chief Conrad, my Uncle Bob, my sister-in-law, and my son Dante."

She shuddered. "They did their research. I would do anything to keep this from them. The woman also noted that, if I refused to pay, I'd ruin you, too. Either we both pay up or we both go down. I tried to offer a smaller amount, but they weren't interested in negotiating."

Fin added, "Eristoff told her, 'Your reputation matters less than your wallet. Just what I'd expect from your kind.'"

Judith's mouth twisted into a sour smile. "Thanks, Fin. It sounds so much nicer when you say it."

"That's 'cause I'd never say that to you."

She nodded in acknowledgement and apology.

"Anyway," she continued, "other than a bit of bigotry, there were no overt threats, no physical harassment, no mention of murder if I reneged on the deal—just simple straightforward extortion."

"Thanks, Judith. Fin, tell Elliot and Tucker that I plan to push that matter—see if I can get them to say what will happen to me if I stop paying. If they bring up Delgado's and Henry's murders or threaten me with physical injury, it will give us more leverage in interrogation."

"Got it, Cap'n."

Cragen glanced at his watch. ""Good job on this, both of you. Now, it's my turn."

13 June  
324 Bryant Avenue  
2:07 p.m.

The target location was a warehouse and loading dock, gray paint peeling from concrete walls, its parking lot empty. Across the street, tucked among the vehicles in a truck storage lot, was the white surveillance van, its doors firmly closed.

_That means we're go…._

Next to the two loading bay doors was a security door with a small window obscured with gray paint. Its handle turned in his hand, so he opened it and stepped inside. The bright afternoon sunlight lit a span of floor five feet wide and a battered wooden counter, its top gouged and splintered. Behind the counter, rows of empty metal shelves stretched into the darkness.

He held the door open with his left hand and peered inside: no movement, no words of welcome, no signs of life. Instinct told him that someone was there, just outside the fan of sunlight, but he couldn't spot them or hear them.

_You'd think I could smell a rat by now. Maybe acting unimpressive will draw them out…._

He stepped inside and let the door close behind him. The fan of sunlight narrowed and closed, leaving him in total darkness.

"Hello?"

The darkness swallowed his voice without an echo. Cragen waited.

"Hello, Captain Cragen."

_To my left and in front of me… female, mature, vowels sound almost Canadian… did Wilkerson's jacket say she was from upstate?_

To the right of Wilkerson, a foot scuffed against the floor.

_Wilkerson and Eristoff, probably both behind the counter—just as Judith said. Okay, now to get this started…._

He drew in a deep breath.

_Act nervous… get them to do the talking…._

"If you would step up to the counter, we can begin."

He put his left hand out to feel for the counter before taking a step, then another. His fingers brushed rough wood and he stopped, his hand resting on the counter. A shadowed figure moved to stand on the other side of the counter.

_Eyes are starting to adjust… maybe I can make out who…._

He heard papers rustling against a hard surface and a soft click then a circle of bright yellow shone in his face. He threw up his hand to protect his eyes and the light moved to the counter and a photo showing Judith and him faking orgasm.

"Not a photo you would want on Page Six—right, Captain? Not something you'd want delivered to Conrad, Beale, or your family?"

Cragen lowered his hand.

_If my dad saw those pictures, they'd shock him right out of his Alzheimer's and into his grave… might be worth it…._

He shook that thought out of his head.

"No, I don't want anyone seeing them. It's bad enough you've seen them."

The light moved again to his face. Cragen closed his eyes.

"You definitely surprised us," Wilkerson told him. "We thought we'd get a few shots of the two of you leaving together."

A tenor voice chuckled then added, "You were impressive, Captain. When I grow up, I want to be just like you."

_Eristoff, you rat… you don't know the half of it…._

"Could we skip the admiration and get this over with? How much do you want from me?"

He made it to _two-one thousand_ before Wilkerson said, "Fifteen hundred a month starting this Friday."

The strangled cough that escaped his throat was not faked.

_That's three hundred more than my best guess… their bills are paid off… what the hell do they need the money for? _

"You're kidding, right? Fifteen hundred?"

_Need to make them think I'm not willing to pay that much…_

He took a step back from the counter.

"Anyone tell you what captains make? We don't get overtime…fifteen hundred—that's nuts!"

Behind the counter, both voices laughed at him and the flashlight wavered from his face for a moment.

"Cheer up, Captain," Wilkerson told him. "It goes to a worthy cause."

"Yeah," Cragen said, stressing the sarcasm, "your summer home in the Hamptons."

"Don't tell me you can't afford it, Captain," Eristoff said. "It might hurt a bit, but it beats losing your pension, insurance, paycheck—"

"Reputation, friends…." Cragen finished the sentence. "I know the trade-off. I know."

_Deep breath… look like I'm thinking it over…._

"How long do I have to pay up?"

He heard whispers, words in a discussion too faint to understand. With the blackmailers' attention occupied, he tried shading his eyes from the light, but still could see nothing of the figures behind the counter.

"We'll be kind," the woman's voice told him. "Payments stop two months after your retirement, assuming you make it to retirement age."

_Okay… time to push the matter…._

"Gee, thanks. What if I tell you both to go to Hell?"

The papers rustled again and the light shining in his eyes moved to a photo of Judith and him leaving the restaurant. Her hand was in his and he was smiling down on her upturned face.

"Maybe you have enough saved to last the rest of your life—does she? Maybe you don't mind your friends cutting you dead, your detectives ashamed to admit they served with you, but Judith might. Everything you throw away, she loses, too."

He shook his head at Wilkerson's words.

_Make it look like I'm thinking about her words… while I really hope they're being recorded correctly… okay, now push them harder…._

Cragen eased forward until he could feel the counter against his hip. The flashlight stayed aimed at his eyes as he moved.

_Hard to look imposing when I'm squinting…._

"I don't like being threatened. I don't like it at all."

He placed both hands on the counter and leaned forward, feeling for the stack of incriminating photos. He tapped his index finger on them.

"Conrad and Beale will know someone had to take these photos. If I claim blackmail loud enough and often enough, they'll investigate."

He then pointed to where he thought Wilkerson and Eristoff were in front of him.

"If I cooperate, I'll probably get to keep my pension—Judith's, too. I like that chance better and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

He stepped back and began a slow turn away from them toward the door.

_I'm turning my back on two IAB agents… better not get shot…. still can't see anything but a dazzle point from that damn flashlight…._

A hand grabbed his left shoulder and spun him around while another hand tucked his arm behind him. He landed against the counter, its edge hitting the small of his back. A hard shove on his sternum forced the air from his lungs and pinned him to the counter, his arm caught behind him. Cragen struggled to get his feet planted, to push away whomever had him pinned, but something metal struck him behind his ear then slid down his neck to dig into the soft underside of his jaw.

He held still, fighting a wave of nausea from the head blow and the suddenness of the light shining in his eyes.

_Feels rounder than a 9mm… someone's service revolver… angled so the bullet will blow a hole through my throat and brain…._

Eristoff's voice came from above him. "Tell us again how we can't do anything to stop you."

The pressure lifted from his chest as someone groped his waistband for his holster. A sharp tug yanked it away; it landed on the counter and slid off to his right.

_Damn… that hand's free, but they'll see me reach… okay… Elliot will move in if things get worse… don't think about things getting worse…._

"Captain Cragen," Wilkerson's voice came from his left. "I can't let you walk out of here and tell on us; this is too important to me. Either you agree to our terms or everyone will wonder why you chose this building for your suicide."

That word froze the air in his lungs. The cold spread through him, making the metal barrel of the .38 digging into his jaw warm by comparison.

_I'm going to die here…._

He fought the panic, fought to regain control of fear-paralyzed muscles that refused to draw in air. Breath came in shallow panting as he forced himself to do more than lay there and shiver with fright.

_Elliot, Tucker—they have my back… I'm safe… stay on script… now—right now, talk back at them…._

"Judith…she'll—"

"…be found hanging in her dining room tomorrow—just another affair ending in two suicides. Don't wait too long, Captain—unless you want a muzzle blast as your final sight in this world."

_Got you, you bitch… this has to be enough rope to hang you…._

"Okay," he said, letting residual fear quaver through his words.

The gun barrel eased away from his jaw, giving him space to speak clearly.

"I'll pay fifteen hundred a month, every month until after I retire. You leave Judith alone?"

"Of course, Captain," Wilkerson confirmed, "as long as she pays her share. We have a deal?"

"Yes."

Footscuffs and movement behind the counter sounded like a victory dance. No noise came from whomever had pinned him to the counter.

_Stanton? Don't think so… family, kids, bills—he's in this only to pay off his debts. Lau's my pick… he has no family to get hurt if he plays rough…._

"Why don't you help Captain Cragen up?"

The gun barrel left his jaw. Cragen swallowed to loosen stiff throat muscles.

_Almost done… stand up, say my good-byes, and get the hell out of here…._

No hand grabbed his own to pull him to his feet. Instead, something grabbed his tie right under the knot and yanked him up and forward. Cragen pulled his feet under him and wobbled as he sought his balance. Pressure against his chest came from a hand placed to help him stay upright.

_Damn nice of him, considering he threw me down to start with…._

He was about to say something grateful when fingers moved over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the wire hidden under it and twisting it among his chest hair.

_Oh, shit…._

Cragen took a step back just as the person swung his other hand up to hold the gun against his stomach.

"Shit," a third voice announced, "he's wired."


	10. Tough Break on Bryant

13 June  
324 Bryant Street  
2:17 p.m.

Cragen felt the hand swing away from his chest as he stepped back.

_Reaching for his weapon? I can't see a thing… I need to move… now!_

He rushed forward, his hands chest level and palms out. His left hand met hard metal gripped by fingers and he straightened his arm, moving the gun up and away. He turned to his left and drove his body into the man before him. Another step and they slammed against the wall.

_Get that gun…._

He drove his left thumb into the guy's wrist tendons then slammed the gun and hand holding it against the cement block wall. A fist pounded his back as the pinned man struggled to get loose.

"Chuck…Diane…." The guy's voice was muffled by the padding of Cragen's suit jacket. "Help…."

He heard rapid footsteps behind him.

_They can't shoot me… might hit this guy… I got a couple seconds… sure could use that backup…._

One more slam and the hand released its grip on the revolver. Cragen made a blind grab for it, but the weapon clattered on the floor. A leg brushed passed his knee and the gun skidded away. He brought his left hand up…

_Try for a choke hold… use him as a shield… where the hell is backup?_

…and the outside door flew open. Light poured from over his shoulder onto the face of the man he had pinned.

_Brush cut, dark eyes wide with panic, split lip and bloody chin…._

"Police!"

_That's Judith…._

Two shots came from right behind him. Cragen flinched, but they hit wood and cement. The light dimmed and a male voice outside shouted, "We got shots fired!"

"Back door and take him with us," Wilkerson whispered.

A hand grabbed Cragen's collar and yanked hard.

_I'm not going anywhere…._

He grabbed Lau's shirt with both hands and pulled him along as he threw himself backward. He connected with someone and they all three fell in a tangle of legs and arms. He heard a hollow thump and the body beneath him went limp. Lau rolled left, tearing free of Cragen's right hand. Cragen kept his grip on Lau's shirt and rolled with him, trying again to pin him, but Lau grabbed his left hand and twisted it hard. He felt something rip and his hand went numb. Momentum carried him over Lau and he caught himself, knees and right palm to floor, left hand cradled against his chest.

The door swung open again. The light showed Eristoff sprawled on his back, head against the base of the counter. Lau had regained his feet and Wilkerson already was in motion away from them.

"Run!" she shouted.

Lau jumped over Cragen and bolted after her just as two figures with weapons drawn immerged from the dazzle of bright sunlight, Judith with both hands aiming as she swept the scene with her weapon, Tucker behind with his weapon ready and a radio in his left hand.

"Hold it right there!"

_Damn, Judith can yell…._

The sound of footfalls faded as Wilkerson and Lau ignored Otten's command. Cragen gathered his legs beneath him and sat up, staying below the level of the countertop. Judith was kneeling at his side before he completed the move. Tucker squatted by the open door in case the fleeing rats turned back.

"Elliot," Judith said, "warn Fin—Wilkerson and Lau are running for the back door."

Cragen looked closely and saw the wire running from under Judith's hair to inside the lapel of her jacket.

_Must have put it back on in a hurry… no vest… need to chew her out for that…._

Elliot's voice came through the radio in Tucker's hand.

"Fin's patched in. RMPs are five minutes out."

"Don," Judith then asked, "are you okay?"

_Well, I got tossed around like a bean bag, my head hurts, and I think my wrist is broken…._

"Yeah, but he's not."

He pointed at Eristoff. Judith holstered her weapon. She felt his neck for a pulse then leaned in to look closely at the back of his head.

"Elliot," she said. "Did you get a bus?"

"Bus is eight minutes out," Stabler answered.

"Eristoff's unconscious but breathing. He needs attention first."

Tucker grabbed something from the counter and joined them, crouching by Judith. He placed a flashlight on the floor then held out a holster and weapon. Cragen lowered his left hand to his lap, took the holster and clipped it to his belt where it belonged.

"You sure you're okay, sir?" Tucker asked. "Your hand…."

"I'll be fine. Lau gave it a good twist, but it's still usable."

Cragen wriggled his fingers. Pain shot up his arm and he clenched his jaw to keep from making a sound. Judith reached out with a "Let me see that" frown on her face just as a distant door opened then slammed shut.

Tucker thumbed the radio's mic switch. "They're outside."

A double-click acknowledged the message. They sat in silence broken only by Eristoff's shallow breathing, waiting for word from Fin. Cragen shifted his left arm slightly, unwilling to draw attention again to his wrist.

_That hurts… but hey, if this is the worst that happens, if Fin's okay…._

Fin's voice came from the radio in a whisper. "Got Wilkerson cuffed. Lau never came out. Tucker, Judith—copy that?"

Judith drew in a quick breath and caught Tucker's gaze; she pointed her thumb at the back of the warehouse then nodded. Cragen tipped his head back and listened.

_Don't hear a thing… that door slam must have been Lau spotting Fin then ducking back inside…._

"Roger that," Tucker responded, his voice as quiet as Fin's.

Elliot's instructions immediately followed Tucker's reply. "Fin, hold your position until a RMP arrives your location then leave Wilkerson with a uni and enter the warehouse with uniform backup. Cap, you get the next RMP and the bus; watch Eristoff and that door."

Cragen drew his gun then leaned close to Judith's ear. "Got it, " he whispered.

"Judith," Elliot continued, "you and Tucker work the warehouse. Locate Lau but do not engage."

"Roger that," Judith answered. "Be advised that we're leaving the radio with Captain Cragen."

"Good. I'll advise you when backup arrives and when Fin moves in. Now, go."

Tucker put the radio by Cragen's right hand. Cragen mouthed "Be careful", saw Judith's lips tighten as she nodded then they were away: Cragen listened to their footfalls, Judith's light and quick, then Tucker's heavier tread as they leap-frogged down a row of empty metal shelves into the dark quiet of the warehouse.

_Four minutes to backup… desperate rat in a trap… no vests… Saints Michael and Sebastian both better be watching over Judith and Tucker… a healing miracle wouldn't be bad, either…._

He set his gun done to check Eristoff's pulse and respiration.

_Shallow but steady… hope he holds until the bus gets here._

Cragen shifted to a crouch by the corner of the counter, radio by his left hand, weapon in his right, and listened.

_All I want to hear is Lau shouting, "Okay—don't shoot!" and then see everyone safely out of here… only a sore wrist and an unconscious rat as the fallout from this clusterfuck… is that too much to ask?_

13 June  
Surveillance van  
2:20 p.m.

"Chestnut One to Bronx Central Dispatch—inform responding units that shots have been fired. Three detectives and two suspects are inside the warehouse. Also request a bus this location. Advise time of arrival."

_Training, experience, and discipline… when an operation blows up like this one has, that's what gets us through…._

On the screen, Elliot saw Judith crouching by the security door. Tucker placed a hand on it and shoved, allowing Otten to peer around the door below its handle. She waved her left hand forward then rushed through the opening, Tucker right behind her.

_I just sent two people in with no idea of what might be going down…._

Tutuola: Chestnut Two to Chestnut One: In position. How long until uniforms show up?

Elliot keyed his mic. "Still waiting to hear. Judith and Tucker just entered."

Tutuola: I heard the shots. This isn't what we planned.

Elliot stared heavenward and shook his head. "Tell me about it. Advise when RMP at your location."

Tutuola: Will do. Chestnut Two—out.

Judith's voice came through her wire to the speaker. "Hold it right there!"

Elliot stared at the monitor, wishing he was in there with Judith, weapon drawn on the rats who roughed up his CO, needing the action around him…

…_not stuck inside this damn white van…._

Bronx Central Dispatch: Chestnut One, be advised sector cars from the Four-One should arrive in five minutes. Paramedics' arrival time eight minutes your location.

Elliot's acknowledgement was overridden by Judith's voice.

Otten: Elliot, warn Fin—Wilkerson and Lau are running for the back door.

Tutuola: I heard her, Elliot. Any word on backup?

Elliot replied on both the radio and wire frequencies. "Fin's patched in. RMPs are five minutes out."

Tutuola: Shit.

_I completely agree… better get you some help…._

"Central, send first arriving RMP to 324 Longfellow; see Detective Tutuola that location."

_Now, someone tell me what the hell is going on in there…._

Otten: Don, are you okay?

Cragen: Yeah, but he's not.

_He who? _

Elliot spun his chair, looking for something—anything—expendable and breakable.

_I'm stuck in here… nothing but voices telling me nothing… what is going on?_

Otten: Elliot, did you get a bus?"

Elliot keyed the mic. "Bus is eight minutes out."

Otten: Eristoff's unconscious but breathing. He needs attention first.

First? Who else is injured? There's you two, Wilkerson and Lau running, Cap just said he was fine…. 

Tucker: You sure you're okay, sir? Your hand….

Cragen: I'll be fine. Lau gave it a good twist, but it's still usable.

Elliot exhaled with a silent prayer of gratitude.

_I don't have to tell the gang that I broke our captain…._

Tucker: They're outside.

Elliot pressed the mic key twice, acknowledging Tucker without taking his attention from listening for Fin's report of success or trouble.

_Two rats and Fin… we're spread too damn thin for this…._

Seconds ticked by, marked by the digital clock on the comm unit. Elliot gripped the edge of the console, feet tapping separate nervous rhythms on the floor.

_C'mon, Fin… c'mon… call me with some good news… c'mon…._

Tutuola Got Wilkerson cuffed. Lau never came out. Judith, Tucker—copy that?

Otten: indecipherable

Tucker: Roger that.

Elliot struck the comm unit's top with the flat of his hand.

_My choices suck—leave Lau roaming free with Cap, Judith and Tucker tied down with Eristoff, pull everyone out and risk further injury to the rat… Fin has to stay with Wilkerson… if Lau comes his way… damn it, nobody's wearing a vest… no good choices, only shitty ones…._

"Fin," he said, "hold your position until that RMP arrives your location then leave Wilkerson with a uni and enter the warehouse with uniform backup. Cap, you get the second RMP and the bus; watch Eristoff and that door."

Cragen: Got it.

"Judith," Elliot continued, keeping his voice low, "you and Tucker work the warehouse. Locate Lau but do not engage."

Otten: Roger that. Be advised that we're leaving the radio with Captain Cragen.

"Good. I'll advise you when backup arrives and when Fin moves in. Now, go."

Five, ten, fifteen seconds passed, marked by the clock and the growing frustration strumming Elliot's nerves. The monitor showed only the warehouse exterior; the speakers broadcast only silence. He turned up the gain, but heard nothing but footsteps growing loud, then fading away.

_They're moving through the warehouse… Tucker better know what he's doing… I don't want to tell Couch something happened to his partner… not that telling John bad news about Fin would be a picnic…._

A whisper from the speakers broke that train of thought.

Cragen: Elliot?

Cap sounds worried… Tucker said something about his hand… 

He tuned the mic to Chestnut Three's frequency. "Chestnut One to Chestnut Three," he whispered. "Cap, any sign of Lau?"

Cragen: No, nothing. Eristoff's breathing is getting rough. Any news on that bus?

Elliot checked the clock. "We should have backup any second now, but the bus is still three minutes out."

Cragen: Rog—

Two gunshots, their sound distorted by transmission through two microphones, came from the speakers. Another volley followed, the number of shots confused by echoes and transmission duplication.

Tutuola: Elliot, sector car's here. We're going in.

Elliot changed to the main frequency. "Fin's on his way in—Cap, what can you tell me?"

Cragen: Two shots, then three or four together from the back of the warehouse.

_Shit!_

13 June  
324 Bryant Street  
2:24 p.m.

Judith paused at the end of the row of tall, empty metal shelves to listen.

_No sounds…._

She peeked around the corner, a visual check too quick to make her a target.

_A wide aisle running through the center of this place… no Lau… lots of dark and shadows, though… how about a heavy downpour of paint remover? Wash those skylights clean and let us see what we're doing… should be only a minor miracle, easily accomplished…._

She waved Tucker forward. He passed her at a jog, crossed the wide aisle to the next row of shelving, and froze there, weapon up and ready. He checked the aisle with the same quick motion that she had used then signaled for her to duplicate his dash.

_Figured him for a desk-bound rat who would need a nursemaid… my back feels much safer now that I've seen him move…._

She dashed across the aisle to another row of empty shelves then pointed to her left. Tucker nodded and gathered himself. As she covered him, he ducked around the end of that row of shelves.

_There, now we can work our way up two rows… checking through the empty shelves to the rows on either side… not the safest way to travel through a maze of twisty little passages, but it's quick and no one's giving us our choice of methods…._

They reached the end of the row and repeated the maneuver, working their way back to the wide center aisle.

_Four rows down, the rest of the warehouse left to cover…._

Tucker waved at her then pointed down the aisle to the next rows to be searched. She nodded as she moved to the end of the row, ready to cover his move.

_Listen… not a sound… okay—go!_

She dropped her hand and he dashed to the next row. Judith watched him do a visual check on that row, clear the aisle with another visual check, then wave her forward. She drew a breath, listened again for any movement that might be Lau, and stepped into the aisle.

_Head to where Tucker is, clear the aisle again, move to the next row… so far, so—_

Two muzzle flashes on her left, their reports reaching her after the _pffft _of a projectile passing too close to her head. Instinct kicked in—crouch, aim, two-tap to the point of the flashes. On her right, a flash showed that Tucker reacted as she had, the sound of his firing lost in the noise from her own shots.

She ducked back around the shelf, pressed her back against the metal and listened.

_Nothing but the ringing in my ears…._

Stabler: Fin's on his way in—Cap, what can you tell me?"

She ignored the rest of the transmission and hunched over to see between the shelf supports. Something dark lay motionless where the shots had been fired.

_That had better be Lau…._

"Tucker? Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he answered, his voice harsh and shaky.

"Fin is on his way in—backup must be here. Cover me."

As soon as he stepped into the aisle, she ran for the downed shape. Tucker followed, keeping his weapon aimed on the shape while she holstered hers and knelt down.

_It's Lau… no need for a bus… two in the chest, one each in jaw and left shoulder… one of us is grouping high…_

She rocked back on her heels and looked up at Tucker. He had lowered his weapon and was staring at the body.

"That's Field Agent Greg Lau," he said, his voice thick with grief.

_I shot a perp and a rat… he shot a colleague…._

"I'm sorry, Ed."

He shook his head, gaze firmly fixed on Lau.

"I'm not; that skel betrayed all of us."

_I can't disagree…._

She raised her voice. "Chestnut One, in case you didn't read, we need an M.E. and a shooting team. I don't think IAB will let Tucker handle this one."

13 June  
SVU Squad Room  
3:05 p.m.

Couch Sofarelli came through the squad room door and stopped by Munch's chair. He ignored the older man's expectant gaze as he looked around the room.

_They're not here, not even the captain. Damn—that makes this more likely…._

He swallowed hard before looking at Munch.

"I think there's news. Where is Olivia?"

John left his chair and headed for the interview room. Inside, Olivia was sorting papers into neat stacks on the table.

"Liv?"

John got her attention as he let Couch enter before him. He then closed the door and moved to lean against a file cabinet, arms crossed as he waited. Olivia glanced from him to Couch, her face impassive.

"You learned something?" she asked.

Couch took a step sideways to get both of them in view.

"I stopped by the desk on my way in," he said. "Sergeant Valeri told me he'd heard that an undercover operation in the Bronx went south about thirty minutes ago. No firm word on casualties, but there's at least one cop dead, two injured. Valeri also said One PP has the place locked down so tight not even air can get out."

The paper in Olivia's hand crinkled as her grip on it tightened. John raised his head and drew his lips in.

"You know if it's…?" Olivia asked.

Sofarelli shook his head. "No idea at all. I tried Judith's cell; it rang then went to voicemail."

John reached into his coat pocket for his phone and poked the speed-dial for his partner while Olivia snatched hers from her belt and did the same.

"It rings and then voicemail," said Olivia.

"_Odafin Tutuola—leave a message and I'll get—"_ John stabbed a button with his finger. "I set it to 'Speaker' and forgot to turn it off."

"I've done that," Olivia said. "I'll try Cragen."

When that call reached voicemail, she cradled her phone before her in both hands as though wishing their missing teammates might emerge from it genie-style, thus granting her wish for their safe return. John stared at the top of the file cabinet, his jaw clenched and lips tight. Couch drew in a deep slow breath.

_What's happened has happened. God grant us the strength to face it, whatever it is…._

Olivia broke his train of thought. "You said 'One dead, two injured.' That doesn't sound good."

"Remember," John said, "they're after rats. We might not like it, but rats count as cops."

"Yeah," she retorted, "but there's probably only one, maybe two rats being targeted. The odds still suck."

"There's dozens of operations going on at any time," Couch offered.

Both detectives turned the same bleak stare at him.

_Yeah, I know… when given a choice between facts and instinct, go with the gut… and my gut says this is going to be very, very bad…._


	11. Questions and Recriminations

13 June  
324 Bryant  
4:25 p.m.

Barricades, sector cars, and yellow tape blocked the intersections formed by Bryant and Longfellow with Viele and E. Bay Avenues. Vans from ESU, CSU, and the Bronx ME's office lined Bryant Avenue along with unmarked cars from IAB, One PP, and the Bronx borough headquarters. More cars would have filled the warehouse lot, but that had been reserved for the Chief's of Department's car, the ME's body wagon and four ambulances: one each for Eristoff, Cragen, Otten, and Tucker.

_Standard departmental procedure for a shooting—Judith and Tucker have to be checked for injuries even though neither of them were hit… separate ambulances to keep them from colluding on a story and two more buses 'cause nobody makes a victim ride with his attacker… hard to think of Cap'n as a victim… him against Lau—younger, armed… damn, I'm impressed…._

Fin stood on the loading bay, looking over the jumble of official vehicles. He had spent the last ninety minutes sequestered in a corner of the warehouse waiting for the shooting team to work through their investigation of Lau's death. His own statement had taken ten minutes to give, but no one had released him afterward to return to the One-Six. He had caught Elliot's eye when he walked past him and Chiefs Sullivan and deMichelis, and Chief of Detectives Conrad, the latter a short man with brush-cut blond hair and the stance of a boxer. The three were standing by the front counter in a semi-circle around Stabler.

_The brass in action… Sullivan picking everything apart, riding Elliot like an overseer with an itchy whip hand… looking to cover his ass, pretending he didn't set this mess up… deMichelis slouched like a zombie in shock… he knew we suspected his people, but it took seeing Lau dead to make it real to him… at least Chief Conrad is acting like a cop and asking the right questions… standing closer to Elliot than Sullivan… supporting him and acting concerned about Cap'n and Judith and even Tucker… hope someone called their reps… the Bronx D.A. gets to question them first and Martinez is no fan of ours…._

Commotion behind him caught Fin's attention. He turned to see Lau's body zipped in its black bag being wheeling through the loading bay door on a gurney. Two techs guided it down the ramp to the ME's body wagon. The ME, a stout black man with a fringe of white hair, preceded the gurney. He watched as Lau's body was loaded then he got into his own official SUV, which followed the wagon down Bryant Avenue.

Fin straightened his posture as they loaded the body and left, not enough to be at attention, but enough to show some respect for the dead.

_This'd gone different, that might be Cap'n or Judith or Tucker… or me… if Lau had followed Wilkerson out and wanted a fight, I would've had a hard time of it… instead, he's the one dead… still having trouble believing he was involved in this… man, that was stupid …._

"Fin?"

He turned his head left and saw Elliot exiting the bay door. Both his hands were curled into tight fists and the speed of his stride told Fin he was acting against his nature by walking away from a fight.

Stabler stopped next to Fin and said, "Good to see a friendly face,"

"My face doesn't get called 'friendly' too often," Fin told him.

Elliot glanced around, seeing if anyone was listening. The set of his jaw, the still-tight fists, and the glare in his eyes showed that he did not really care if anyone did overhear.

"It's friendlier than the ass Sullivan wants me to kiss. He acts like he's covered in Teflon. DeMichelis is walking wounded and Chief Conrad looks ready to kill them both."

"My money's on Sullivan. Conrad's good people, but…." Fin shrugged, signaling his opinion of Conrad's chances against the Chief of Department.

"I might take that bet," Elliot said. "I think Sullivan took more than he can swallow on this one."

"Unless he finds a way to spit it all over someone else."

"That someone else being you, me, Judith, and Cap?"

"Naw." Fin's mouth twisted then curved up into a grin. "I was hoping Tucker."

Stabler snorted, but said nothing further.

_Okay, so it's not funny… we're both worrying about Cap and Judith and our jobs… looks like this won't go down easy for us…._

Elliot interrupted his thoughts.

"Fin, I'm sorry about Lau. You knew him and…."

Fin did not bother to keep his disdain in check. "I stopped knowing Greg the day I learned he was part of this. I don't know people who blackmail and kill."

Elliot nodded his agreement. "You finished with the shooting team?"

"Yeah. Didn't have much to tell them. The back door lets out right onto the street. I stood behind the car and, when Wilkerson came out, I told her to halt. She did. I identified myself and she put her hands on her head. Her weapon was holstered and she didn't put up a struggle."

"She say anything?"

"Not a word. I cuffed her and set her in the car then I called you about Lau."

Elliot nodded once, his mouth set in a frown as he processed the story.

"That's what they told me you said. The techs are the only ones not spinning things. You also talk to the chiefs?"

"Yeah, I talked with them—Conrad and Sullivan and the Bronx Duty Chief—Verbeck?"

"Yeah, Sally Verbeck."

"She's pissed about this," Fin said. "Wanted to know why we were running an operation in her borough with no notice to her and with inadequate backup. I told her it was Chief Sullivan's orders and he overheard me. Man won't be doing me any favors any time soon."

"He's not doing any of us any favors," Elliot said. "But that takes us back to where we started—how we're in the shit and Sullivan is clean."

_Makes me mad enough to think about handing him my badge… don't go there… don't really want to sit in a guard shack watching someone else's property the rest of my life…._

"You heard any more about Stanton being missing?" Fin asked.

Elliot scowled. "Word came through while you were with the shooting team. Stanton ate his gun in a broom closet at the Two-Seven."

Fin swung around to face Elliot.

"In his own station house? Shit, that's just wrong."

"According to the rat sent to pick him up," Elliot said, "Stanton got a cell phone call about 2:20 p.m. His partner said that Stanton then asked to swing by the Two-Seven so he could arrange a doctor appointment for his son's camp physical. Partner got to talking with his desk sergeant and didn't realize how long Stanton was taking until the rat squad showed up to arrest him."

_Can't call him stupid… his rep will argue that his suicide wasn't caused by his arrest 'cause Stanton couldn't have known he was going be arrested…._

"That means his family could get his pension."

"Well, we can check if either Wilkerson or Lau called to warn Stanton. It will be easy enough to disapprove it—which is what we should be doing instead of standing around here. You cleared to leave yet?"

Fin shook his head. "Sullivan told me not talk to anyone, either."

The cadence of curse words leaving Elliot's mouth matched the frustration strumming Fin's own nerves.

"We ought to have someone with Cap and Judith—yeah, and Tucker," Elliot said when he'd run out of descriptives for Sullivan. "Someone needs to be questioning Wilkerson—someone who knows the case."

Elliot spun on his heel and walked back to the open loading door; he peered inside then returned to Fin's side.

"Fin, Sullivan gave me a list of people I couldn't talk to. What exactly did he tell you?"

"He said not to call the house and no calls to or from any SVU personnel or any one from One PP or any reporters. I wanted to smack him for that—him thinking I'd call a reporter. Makes me want to call lots of them."

The frown etched into Elliot's face curved up slightly.

"So, you can call Tucker."

Fin thought it through. "Yeah, I could. You thinking his orders don't prevent him calling the One-Six?"

"I don't know. It's up to you—it's your ass if you're caught or if Tucker rats you out to Sullivan."

Fin reached into his pocket for his phone.

"You gonna disavow any knowledge of my actions? What's Tucker's number?"

While Fin talked, Elliot walked to the loading bay door, returning after he had ended the call.

"How'd it go?"

"Never had a rat that happy to hear from me. I could have asked him to run naked through Times Square and he'd do it. He's calling John now."

"Any news on Cap?" Elliot asked.

Fin shook his head. "Tucker hasn't seen him or Judith since they got to the hospital. He said the DA just arrived, but his S.B.A. rep hasn't shown. Tucker's gonna stonewall until he shows."

"That's what I'd do," said Elliot. "Y'know, Fin—John's going to freak when he hears from Tucker."

_Oh, man… when John gets that call, his eyes'll bug out so far, they'll hit his shades--no way he'll expect good news from a rat…._

"Yeah. Wish I was there to see it."

"Detective Stabler? Detective Tortola?"

An alto voice from vocal chords born and bred in Brooklyn called them from the loading bay door. Duty Chief Verbeck, in khaki pants with a sweater vest in olive green, looked more like an assistant to the chiefs than the woman coordinating the investigation.

Fin muttered, " 'Tu-tu-oh-la'—it's not that hard."

Elliot snorted as he headed towards Verbeck.

"If," he said for Fin's ears only, "garbling your name is the worst they do to us…."

"Yeah."

Inside the warehouse, the five members of the shooting team were at the near end of the counter with their diagrams, photographs, and field notes. At the far end of the counter, Chief Sullivan was on his cell, nodding as he listened. Around him were another two dozen men and women, most of them techs packing their equipment and the evidence gathered from Lau's shooting and his and Eristoff's attacks on Captain Cragen. A young black man in uniform held an open portfolio and a pen as he watched Sullivan attentively.

_Lt. Mark Simms, Sullivan's assistant… on the fast track… another bureaucrat with no street cred… just what we need…._

Fin spotted Chief deMichelis and two IAB agents in dark gray suits standing by the first row of shelves, a group avoided by everyone who walked past them.

_Rats in gray… figures… they look scared… they know what four crooked agents means… going to be rough on them for a long time… probably shouldn't feel bad about that, but Tucker's right—someone has to go after the skels, even if they are cops… except IAB can't tell between real bad cops and us trying to do our jobs…._

Fin noticed Elliot glancing around.

"You looking for Chief Conrad?" he asked.

"Yes. Everyone else here needs a scapegoat or doesn't give a damn about us—"

"Detectives?"

Verbeck beckoned them to follow her as she moved to join Chief Sullivan. The chief of department took no notice of their arrival, his attention remaining on his phone conversation.

"…that's the long and short of it, Tim. CSU and the team are leaving now…. Sally Verbeck says by nine tonight—plenty of time for the eleven o'clock news…. Sounds good to me…. See you then."

Chief Sullivan pocketed his phone. He then surveyed the area, catching Chief deMichelis' attention and summoning him with a nod, smiling at Duty Chief Verbeck and saying, "Commissioner Richardson says that nine p.m. at his office works for him." His gaze passed over the SVU detectives as if they were not present then he beckoned at someone behind them. Nothing in his stance or demeanor showed the fear that the IAB agents displayed nor any distress or dread about what might happen to him.

Fin watched as Chief deMichelis, Lt. Saunders of the shooting team, Sgt. Rehman of CSU, Verbeck, and one of the gray-suited rats gathered next to Sullivan on the far side of the counter. A moment later, Chief Conrad came in from outside and stood next to Sullivan at the end of the counter.

Fin glanced over at Elliot then around them. No one else was on their side of the counter. He raised an eyebrow. Elliot gritted his teeth in reply.

_Yeah… just you and me… don't like those odds…._

Chief Sullivan cleared his throat. When he had everyone's attention, he said, "I want to thank all of you for your diligence in investigating this matter. It's always a tragedy when one of our own is lost and it is a greater tragedy when the loss stems from the actions, however unintentional, of another of us."

_Tragic accident, my ass… Sullivan is giving everyone the spin to follow when they write their reports for Commissioner Richardson…._

Only the IAB agent nodded in agreement. The team leaders and Verbeck kept their expressions neutral; deMichelis stared angrily into space and Chief Conrad eyed Sullivan as if gauging his sincerity. Sullivan looked his audience over, again failing to make eye contact with Stabler and Tutuola.

"I can't say how much I deplore and condemn the actions of Sgt. Wilkerson, Detectives Eristoff and Lau, and Officer Stanton. That four members of New York's Finest would commit blackmail and assault is a blot on the honor of the force that can only be removed by a swift and thorough investigation followed by prosecution of those responsible."

Elliot jerked his head and Fin turned his attention to him. Elliot mouthed two names then clenched his teeth, biting back whatever else that he wanted to say.

_Delgado and Henry… yeah, what about them? We gonna forget them and only get the rats on what happened today? Sounds like it… this is nothing but a practice run for his press conference…._

"I also want to applaud the accomplishments of Captain Cragen, Detectives Otten, Stabler, and Tutuola, and Sergeant Tucker, whose hard work allowed us to catch the suspects in the act. I regret the injuries suffered by Donnie Cragen and I want to wish him a speedy recovery."

_So why don't you wish him a speedy recovery? Damn, I hate mealy-mouthed brass…._

"Commissioner Richardson is expecting our completed reports and your presence in his office by nine p.m. Any questions?"

Saunders and Rehman shook their heads. DeMichelis continued to stare into the distance; his underling matching the stare but with a sickly pallor to his face. Verbeck dropped her gaze to the countertop and gave a barely audible sigh. Simms smiled as he took notes while Conrad glanced over at Fin and Elliot; a frown compressed his lips for an instant, then his expression went blank.

_Sullivan is gonna make his version stick, but no one looks happy about it…._

"In that case, my thanks again to all of you for a job well done. Rehman, Saunders, Paul, George, Sally—I'll see you at Commissioner Richardson's office this evening. Until then…."

Sullivan dismissed them with a nod and a smile. Fin glanced at Stabler.

_That red glow on my right is Elliot about to explode… surprised that no one but me sees the signs…._

DeMichelis and his rats left first, followed by the leaders of the CSU and shooting teams. Verbeck stepped up to Conrad for a quick, whispered conversation then she also left. Fin stayed stock still, staring through half-closed eyes at Sullivan, who was talking to his flunky. Next to him, Stabler was waiting with similar mistrust.

Sullivan pointed at Simm's portfolio and said, "See that this is done by 8:30" then he turned to face the two detectives. Chief Conrad moved back a step and stood with his arms crossed, his attention focused on the Chief of Department.

_Shows he's hanging around only because we're under him, not because he's planning to help us any… damn, I thought more of him than that…. _

Chief Sullivan cleared his throat and shook his head sadly.

"This is a regrettable affair all the way around. Don't worry, Detectives—you did a remarkable job given the circumstances. I'm certain that the findings will show that your efforts did not contribute to the unfortunate tragedy that took place here today. You're both cleared to leave. I suggest you head straight home and come in for your shift tomorrow."

"What about—?"

Sullivan interrupted Elliot's question and ignored the glare Stabler aimed at him.

"Donnie and Judith should be fine. Of course, we'll have to wait for Commissioner Richardson to review and release the report before we'll know that for certain, but you have nothing to worry about."

_You're gonna dump Greg's shooting on Tucker… keep it all in IAB's family… not sure I like that—Tucker's been stand-up with us… okay, Elliot—I'm taking point… when I get shot down, you give it a try…._

"Sir," Fin said, "This is our case. Sending us home is…."

"…an order, Detective. I suggest obeying it."

Chief Sullivan's stance didn't change, but his face lost its jovial softness as his gaze bore straight at Fin's face. Fin didn't budge.

_You were there when Richardson pinned the Combat Cross on me… don't expect me to piss my pants just 'cause you're looking at me… your turn, Elliot…._

"Sir, with all due respect," Elliot said with a calmness that belied the intentness that tightened his jaw and fists. "Internal Affairs shouldn't handle this case. You gave it to us—it's ours. We'll do more good at the One-Six questioning Wilkerson than we will sitting at home."

"Sgt. Wilkerson will be handled through my office. She will get what is owed her; I promise that."

The chief dismissed them by turning away to face Conrad, who kept a carefully blank expression on his face. Fin shot a quick "You gonna push it?" glance at Elliot. The answer came when Elliot stepped around the counter into Sullivan's line of view.

"Chief, again—with all due respect, Detective Tutuola and I know the particulars of this case; we worked it since the day you handed it to us and we've worked it within every stricture and rule you set down. It's our case—"

Sullivan's words came quickly as the color rose in his cheeks and neck.

"Not any more, Detective. That will be all."

He turned away again and Elliot stepped back into his line of sight.

"Sir, what about Officers Delgado and Henry? Have you forgotten them? Don't they deserve justice?"

"Detective Stabler, haven't I dismissed you?"

"Yes, sir. I'm not leaving until I'm certain that this case will be handled the way you asked us to handle it—an investigation not just of blackmail, but the murders of Officers Joseph Delgado and Karen Henry. We risked our partnerships, our captain's and Detective Otten's reputations and themselves—Captain Cragen could have been killed today—all this so we could get these people on murder. You don't seem to remember that."

The two men stood toe-to-toe, Sullivan with a slight height advantage, but Stabler making up for it in age and fitness. Both men were florid with anger, both ready to fight. Fin eyed the two of them, knowing who would win at hand-to-hand and who would win the war.

_Damn, Elliot! You looking for a rip? There's better ways to do this… let it go with Sullivan and talk to Conrad—look at him… he ain't happy about this… maybe he'll work with us…._

"Detective—"

"Sir, with all due—"

Sullivan did not sigh as much as exhale air with the force of a steam locomotive before he turned to Fin.

"You with Stabler in this, Detective?"

_Shit, no… except he's right…._

Fin held the Chief of Department's gaze long enough to show he wasn't submitting to his order. Fear flickered in Sullivan's eyes for an instant, but cold anger replaced it so quickly that neither detective had time to celebrate a win.

"I obviously did not choose as well as I thought when I picked your unit to handle this. Detectives, consider yourselves suspended. Give your shields and weapons to Chief Conrad then go home and think about your actions and your attitudes. George, I'll see you at Richardson's office."

Fin immediately lowered his eyelids; it hid his eyes' need to pop out from shock.

_Didn't think this would happen … John's never gonna let me hear the end of this…._

Sullivan turned and strode out the warehouse door, Lt. Simms at his heels. Fin reached for his badge case while Elliot pulled his own shield slowly from his pocket. He held them close to his body as if reluctant to part with them before walking over to present them to Chief Conrad.

"Sir?"

Chief Conrad glanced at Elliot's shield and weapon then he met his gaze. The two of them held stock-still, a stance Fin matched, until the sound of Sullivan's limo starting broke the tableau.

Conrad reached out his hand and tapped Elliot's badge.

"Keep these, Detective," he said, pushing them closer to Elliot. "You and Tutuola are released to finish working this case. Question Wilkerson and report the results back to me and the Manhattan DA's office—ADA Novak, right?"

Elliot nodded. Conrad lowered his voice.

"I'll fend off Sullivan as long as I can. Get moving."

Elliot opened his mouth. Fin jerked his head toward the door.

_Don't question good luck, Stabler… just say "thank you" and let's get the hell out of here…._

Elliot nodded then did a quick about-face and headed for the door. Fin followed him out. Neither of them said a word until they reached the car Fin had left at the back of the building. Fin stopped by the driver's door to frown at Stabler. Elliot paced a tight circle then held his hand up in mock surrender.

"You don't have to say it, Fin. That was a really stupid thing to do."

"Yeah, but it needed doing. I just wish it was someone else, not us. I felt the way John must feel when I go off cowboying."

Elliot tipped his head and grinned at Fin.

"You felt tall, thin, and Jewish?"

Fin snorted. "Cold and scared. I don't like it when people on the job make me feel that way—I don't mean you, Elliot. I mean Sullivan, standing there deciding what the truth ought to be."

Elliot tapped his fist on the car roof and let out a sigh.

"Let's hope Chief Conrad keeps him honest—at least until we wrap this up."

Fin unlocked the car.

"If our partners don't keep the rats and Sullivan's people away from Wilkerson, everything we just did will be wasted."

13 June  
SVU Squad Room  
4:37 p.m.

John Munch was turning half-circles in his chair, describing an arc that ran from a view of Fin's empty chair to a view of the coffee pot and back again.

_Everything feels topsy-turvy… maybe making myself dizzy will return it all to normal… yes, it's stupid, but so are the circumstances right now…._

Olivia was at her desk staring at the photo array creator on her computer screen

_She's been working on that six-pack for almost an hour, shifting the photo order, swapping one photo for another… anything to keep her from worrying… I'm not worried; Fin can handle himself… he's proved that many times… no reason to worry… none at all…._

He swung his chair until it faced Sofarelli's vacant desk.

_Couch changed into sweats and is doing some kind of mock fighting on the roof—"forms" he called it, but that's merely another name for physical activity that keeps one's mind occupied… activity that keeps us from thinking about partners on the floor, not moving, covered in blood…_

For an instant, he was again in front of Apartment 201 when the bullets hit—Kay, Beau, Stan, knowing he was next, wanting to run, wanting to protect his partner, struggling to get his gun out, slipping on their blood, unable to return fire or to see the shooter, unable to do anything but scream for assistance… then alive, unhurt, waiting at the hospital to see if they had survived… then another hospital, watching Fin through glass, so caught up in fear for him that he had no clue what Cragen and Elliot were saying right behind him….

He shook the memories from his head and swung around to face Fin's empty chair again

_Tutuola, you'd better come back… we've both been lucky once as partners and I hate tempting fate… besides, that chair looks better with you scowling at me from it…. _

"Fred and Tammy left. What about you guys? You thinking about going home?"

Howie Brewster, senior detective for the second shift, stood between John and Olivia, his tall stooped frame and red hair justifying the joke that he was an orangutan with a Glock and a shield. His simian appearance hid a wealth of experience and empathy that matched his seniority, second only to Stabler's.

_Us working past shift-end is not odd. Some of us leaving and some of us sitting at our desks obviously doing nothing is odd. Howie's a stand-up guy, but he doesn't like odd…._

Munch drew his lips back to fake a toothy grin.

"Howie, I think about going home every minute that I spend in these beauteous surroundings."

Brewster leaned over and stared down at him.

"So why not put thought into action? You're setting a bad example for my guys. Next thing I know, they'll all be swinging back and forth and leaving their case work undone. We'll have to dump it back on your shift."

John swung completely around in his chair. "If I swing fast enough, centripetal force will prevent anyone from handing me anything. I'll be impervious to casework."

"Spin fast enough and you'll puke. We won't clean it up for you."

John swung around again, this time slower.

"I'll have you know, Howie, that I only succumb to motion sickness when Fin's driving. I tell you, never, ever drive with my—"

His cell phone rang. John fished it out of his coat pocket and checked the display.

_Don't recognize the number, but it's official issue… remember, bad news always comes in person…._

He answered the call with a "What?" then listened as the caller announced himself.

"Sgt. Tucker," he replied, allowing the frustration he felt to sharpen his tone, "so good to hear your voice. How is our favorite rat?"

Olivia glanced up from her computer work, her gaze boring into John's cell phone. Howie did the rat squad shuffle, getting as far as possible from Munch and his phone conversation.

"_I'm fine," _Tucker responded_. "So are your partners and Captain Cragen."_

"What?"

_"I just spoke to Fin and he asked me to call you. Except for Captain Cragen spraining his wrist, everyone is fine."_

It felt like his skeleton liquified, so suddenly did the tension and fear leave him. John slumped in his chair and breathed a sigh of thanksgiving. He then gave Olivia a "thumbs up" and saw her exhale the same sigh.

_"You still there?"_

"Yeah—I didn't expect you to bring good news. You never do."

_"I didn't expect you to figure this out; good thing Fin warned me. Anyway, three things: Sgt. Diane Wilkerson was taken to the One-Six for booking; Fin wants you to make certain she stays there for him and Stabler to question."_

John snatched up a pen and took notes.

_"Check her cell phone for calls to William Stanton. If you can, get the cell phone records for Greg Lau, a robbery detective at the One-Eight, and see if he called Stanton this afternoon."_

Tucker recited the phone number while John wrote.

_"Captain Cragen, Judith and I are at Bronx-Lebanon Hospital—"_

"You said no one was—"

_"I did. Judith and I were involved in a shooting, so it's SOP. Could you make sure our reps know where we are? Also, if one of you can get over here, it would be a big help; we don't have transport. Trouble is, whoever comes might get caught in the same shit we seem to be in."_

"Where's Fin?"

_"At the ops site with Elliot. Don't go there—it's crawling with pissed-off brass."_

"Can you tell me what happened?"

_"Munch, I know you won't, but trust me—you're better off not knowing right now. I got to go. Thanks for this."_

He hung up and Munch pocketed his phone. Olivia was at his side before he finished.

"Roof", he said to her. "We'll tell Couch the good news then divvy up some things we have to do."

13 June  
Bronx-Lebanon Hospital  
5:42 p.m.

Olivia Benson watched the nurses and staff in the emergency room from the anonymity of the waiting area.

_Which one of them will give up the info without thinking it through first? Tucker is still here, so Judith should be around somewhere… but not necessarily in the ER. Captain Cragen hurt his wrist so he should still be here… we get preferential treatment, but not even cops get out of an ER quickly…._

She watched the staff for a few more minutes then made her choice: a young nurse's aide with dyed black hair combed flat and holes in his nostrils, eyebrow, and lips where piercings had been removed for work. He was checking the inventory of a crash cart and not paying any attention to the bustle around him. She checked the neckline of her white tank top then smoothed her hands down the light sweater she wore over it, making sure all her hardware was covered, then she curved her lips into a worried smile and walked up to him.

"Hi," she said. "Can you tell me where Don Cragen might be? I'm…."

He glanced up from the cart and his eyes landed exactly where she had planned. Olivia drew in a deep breath and the young man followed her ribcage as though hypnotized. She then asked her question again.

"Don Cragen? Can you tell me—"

"Oh, sorry!"

The young man turned beet red and dropped his gaze. He immediately realized that he now was focused on Olivia's fly. His head jerked back and his mouth opened twice without sound before he managed to blurt, "Three doors down, left."

"Thank you."

She turned before he saw her satisfied smirk.

_Some days, it's just too easy…._

Three doors down, left took her to a small examining room. She peered inside and saw Captain Cragen sitting on the end of an examination table. His jacket was folded and hung on the back of a chair and his left sleeve was unbuttoned and loose around a white cast that covered his hand and thumb, leaving his fingers free.

_He looks angry enough to swing at someone… the way he's cradling that cast, let's hope he doesn't… between that and the nasty bruise on his jaw, something rough must have gone down… Tucker said there'd been a shooting, but this looks more like it was a brawl…._

Opposite Cragen was a man in a brown suit with a Captains' Endowment Association pin on his lapel. The C.E.A. rep leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest. Both their voices were loud enough to hear through the door.

"All I know," said the C.E.A. rep, "is there was an officer-involved shooting on Bryant Avenue and a suicide this afternoon at the Two-Seven. The clamp-down on information is as tight as I've seen in years. Something is up—are you sure you want to be part of the cover-up?"

Cragen raised both hands as though to shrug then winced before carefully placing his left hand back in his lap.

"It's orders, Wally. I don't have a choice."

"Donnie, if Sullivan is bearing down on you—"

"Who mentioned Sullivan? I didn't say a word about him."

"Rumor has it that Sullivan wants to bring down Paul deMichelis so he could put his own man over Internal Affairs. C'mon, Donnie—you know Sullivan is only loyal to himself. Don't make the same mistake that you made with Pete O'Farrell."

Cragen straightened and tensed. Olivia feared he might take that swing at the other captain. A moment passed then Cragen's shoulders slumped and he shook his head slowly.

"My lack of loyalty to Pete cost me any chance I had of promotion."

"Being tied to Pete during that scandal almost got you serious jail time."

Cragen nodded then said, "I don't know what this will cost me. I need to know, but I'm under orders to keep quiet."

_Sounds like a cue…._

Olivia rapped on the door then pushed it open and stuck her head in the room.

"Captain? May I come in?"

The C.E.A. rep greeted her arrival with a suspicious frown. Cragen turned toward her with surprise that quickly slid into anger.

"Olivia, what are you doing here?"

She slipped inside the door and shut it behind her.

"Good question, sir. Our favorite rat called John and relayed a message from Fin. Tucker didn't make much sense, but he did say you were here because you hurt your wrist and you needed your rep and one of us with you."

She pointed the cast on Cragen's arm then jerked her head to indicate the other man in the examining room.

"Looks like Tucker is batting a thousand."

The C.E.A. rep snorted and said, "Is this one of your detectives?"

"Captain Walter Luntz, Detective Olivia Benson," Cragen said. "What exactly did Tucker say?"

She repeated the message that John had received then said, "Couch called the D.E.A., the S.B.A. and Captain Luntz' group; none of them knew you three were being questioned here today. John found Sgt. Wilkerson in Holding and has some intricate shuffle going to keep her hidden—good thing, because a set of rats showed up just as I was leaving to come here."

At the news of the IAB agents, Cragen's gaze bore into her, a harsh stare that did not see her but instead was examining his options and how they might play out. Finally, he blinked and nodded once.

"Olivia, could you hand me my phone? It's in my jacket pocket."

She complied and he punched a number.

"Fin? Cragen—fill me in."

As he listened, his breathing quickened and the lines in his face creased even deeper. Olivia and Captain Luntz traded worried looks as the call stretched over several minutes.

Finally, Cragen said, "Fin, tell Elliot that Wilkerson is ours; I don't care what Sullivan or IAB says. Have John pull out all the stops; that should give you the time you need. Before you question her, make sure both Casey and Jack McCoy are there; we're going to need the D.A. in the loop. I'll have Olivia help me here then we'll be back as soon we can."

Cragen closed his phone then touched the bruise darkening the side of his jaw.

"You'd think enough had happened already today," he said. "Enough lying, enough death. Damn it, Tommy. Damn it and you."

Cragen then beckoned both Olivia and Captain Luntz to him.

"That rumor is true, Wally. You want in on this?"

Luntz nodded. "Part of the job, Donnie. If you're in trouble, I'm with you."

"Looks like we're all going to be in trouble." Cragen sighed then looked at Benson. "You should know—Chief Sullivan suspended Elliot and Fin."

She stared back at him. Cragen was speaking English and the words made individual sense, but the sentence itself could not be true.

_After all the hoops they've jumped through, Sullivan suspends them? _

"Son of a bitch!"

Cragen waved the expletive away.

"Chief Conrad countermanded the order, but that won't stick once Sullivan finds out about it. Sure you want in on this?"

"Hell, yes!"

"Thanks. Now, there's no way I can explain this quickly. Short story is Tommy Sullivan asked us to catch some IAB agents who may have murdered two officers last month. A meet with them today went sour. One suspect is dead, shot at the scene; another committed suicide at the Two-Seven. A third was brought here with head injuries—Charles Eristoff. Liv, I want you to see how he's doing. If he's here and awake, call Elliot; get the particulars from him then see if Eristoff will talk. If he's been released, find out who has him and where they took him. He's one of our suspects and I want him at the One-Six for questioning. If he's been admitted and is unable to talk, sit on him until I say otherwise."

She nodded her agreement. Cragen turned to Luntz.

"I need to find out where Detective Judith Otten and Sergeant Ed Tucker are. Where does the Bronx D.A. handle officer-involved shootings?"

"Up in Psychiatry; there's a suite of meeting rooms he borrows for those interviews. You cleared to leave here?"

Cragen stood up.

"Don't know and don't care. Could I have my jacket?"

Olivia handed it to him. He slid his right arm into its sleeve then remembered his cast.

"It's an awful lot of plaster for one small broken bone," he fussed while arranging his jacket over the cast. "There—now I don't look like I'm ducking out on my ER bill."

Olivia smiled at the slight joke.

"Do you want me to meet up with you after I find out about Eristoff?"

He nodded. "I'll call you if we go somewhere else."

Olivia opened the door and the captains left. They walked down the hall to the elevators at a casual pace, to all appearances two men stopping after work to visit a sick friend. She waited until they were on the elevator, then she headed back toward the ER waiting room. Through the bustle of patients, nurses, and staff, she spotted the same nurse's aide indulging in a friendly chat with a female aide at the counter.

_This just isn't your day, kid…._

She unbuttoned her jacket and pushed it back to show her service weapon then she strode up the counter and frowned at the young man.

"I'm Detective Benson. I need a status report on Charles Eristoff."

The nurse's aide turned; his eyes bugged at the sight of her face and the badge she held up for him.

"Um…um…ah…Kelly, can you Eristoff—I mean answer her question?"

The female nurse's aide scrambled about the computer keyboard then said,

"He's still in surgery, due in Post-Op by 6:30."

Olivia kept the frown in place as she nodded once to thank them. Again, she turned away quickly so neither of them saw her grin.

_I really shouldn't enjoy this… I'll bet no one else is having any fun…._

Offices of the Department of Psychiatry  
Bronx-Lebanon Hospital  
6:20 p.m.

The meeting room held a round glass-top table, eight uncomfortable mauve chairs, Francisco Martinez, the Bronx D.A., in a gray suit and maroon silk tie, an A.D.A., whom Martinez had not introduced, in a gray linen pantsuit, Judith Otten, in a pearl gray blouse and empty shoulder holster, and Zach Sills, the Detective's Endowment Association representative, wearing a navy t-shirt and jeans. Martinez and his A.D.A. sat quietly while the two detectives conferred in a whisper.

Finally, Judith Otten turned to Martinez.

"I can't answer that question, either."

Martinez brought his hand down on the table with a loud "smack."

"You can't answer that one, either. That makes—"

He glanced over at the notes his A.D.A. was keeping.

"—fifteen questions in a row that you can't answer. Are you stupid or simply in serious need of retirement?"

"Probably both," Otten muttered.

The A.D.A. chuckled, a sound she quickly turned into a cough. Her boss ignored her to point his finger at Otten.

"Are you stonewalling me?"

"I'm not stonewalling you," Judith told him. "I've answered every question you asked about the shoot—"

"After your rep got here," he groused.

"Which shows she's not stupid," Sills shot back at him.

Martinez turned his glare in the rep's direction and Judith allowed her shoulders to sag, a moment's relief from the tension of keeping too many secrets.

_Sullivan could have cut me some slack… instead, he ordered me to talk to no one about anything and to only answer Martinez' questions about Lau's shooting... that also precludes my talking to the departmental counselors… someone owes me a good cry when this is over…._

Martinez turned his attention back to her and Otten sat straight again.

_You may be a hardass, but I come from an ancient race of stubborn people… I can keep going longer than you can…._

"Detective Otten," Martinez said, enunciating each syllable. "Let me remind you that—"

The door opened and Captain Cragen poked his head into the room.

"Martinez, are you finished with my detective?"

The D.A. swung his glare from Otten to her captain.

"Technically. She's answered all the required questions."

"How about Sgt. Tucker?"

"Yes, but I have other questions for both of them."

"You just said that you were finished. I suggest you schedule any further questioning through SVU Bureau Chief Beale and Chief of Department Sullivan. Detective Otten, let's go."

While the two men glared at each other, Judith leaned close to Detective Sills.

"Zach, should I leave?"

"You've answered all pertinent questions. Martinez is fishing for something, probably looking for hints about what happened on Bryant Avenue today."

"I can't tell him anything else."

Sills shrugged. "Then don't. Leave and let him stew."

Judith snatched her jacket from the back of her chair.

"It's been a pleasure, Mr. Martinez."

She nodded to the A.D.A. and left without looking back. Sills followed and shut the door behind them. In the hall stood Cragen with a C.E.A. rep and Ed Tucker with his rep, a brunette in uniform with sergeant's chevrons.

_Tucker looks terrible… tired and saggy and beat… I probably don't look any better… his holster's empty and I'll bet that feels as wrong to him as mine does to me…._

She followed Cragen and the others down the hall. Once they were on the elevator heading down, she asked, "Do we have a plan?"

"Yes," Cragen answered. "Wally is going to drive us to the One-Six. Olivia will follow as soon as our uniforms arrive to watch over Eristoff—seems he'll be out of it until morning."

He then turned to Detective Sills.

"You probably figured out that Chief Sullivan wants us to sit tight and behave, but we're not doing that. All I'm asking is that you don't call him and tell him what we're doing."

Zach Sills chuckled. "I just watched Judith argue Martinez to a stand-still—best show I've seen in months. I owe you a favor."

Judith leaned closer to Tucker. "I'm so glad someone is enjoying this."

Cragen answered Sills with a weak smile and said, "All I need is to be back at our house with an egg salad sandwich, a mug of coffee, and some Ibuprofen. If anyone asks, you don't know what or where we are."

"You got it," Sills told him. Tucker's rep echoed the assent.

The elevators doors opened and they stepped out into the lobby. Captain Cragen turned to Tucker and Otten.

"I'll give you the whole story on the ride back. Basically, I'm going to ignore all of Sullivan's orders and political maneuvering and focus on the operation originally assigned to us—we're going to nail Wilkerson for extortion and the murders of Delgado and Henry."

He paused. "You're both on mandatory suspension. If you want to go home—"

"No." Judith shook her head vehemently. "I'm staying."

Tucker nodded. "I'm in, too. I want to know why Wilkerson set up this scheme."

Cragen sighed. "That question is now up to sixty-four million dollars. I'm hoping Elliot and Fin will get her to answer it."


	12. Vindication: Part One

13 June  
Sixteenth Precinct  
6:55 p.m.

_When I told John to "pull out all the stops," I pictured him moving Wilkerson all around the station house:_ _holding cell, restroom, break room, furnace room—a shell game to confuse Sullivan's people…._

Captain Cragen looked into the observation room through the open hall door.

_So, why in hell is she sitting in our own interrogation room and not in Robbery or maybe Vice? _

Wilkerson sat facing the one-way mirror, her hands folded on the table before her. Her gaze flicked about the room as though she were comparing it to others she had used in her own investigations. The collar of her yellow silk blouse was open and her pale hair pushed back behind her ears.

_She's not fidgeting, squirming in what I know is an uncomfortable chair…she's acting like a queen on her throne, not a perp who was caught fleeing the scene…_

In the observation room, Munch leaned against the wall at the left side of the room, his face hidden in shadow. Couch stood nearby, his hands clasped behind his back as he also watched Wilkerson. Elliot and Fin were conferring over an open folder by the interrogation room door. Judith and Tucker were at the back wall, both staring at an open flip-phone held by Tucker. The only communication among any of them was the sideways glances Fin kept giving his partner, an attempt at contact that John ignored.

_They act more like strangers on the subway than a team…at least Casey's here.…_

Novak stood behind Fin, reading over his shoulder. Her jeans and Police League polo shirt told of her day-off being interrupted.

…_but I'm not glad about who she brought with her…._

In front of Cragen, with his arms crossed in front of his chest, standing five feet and five inches tall, weighing in at 230 pounds, in a Canali chalk-stripe suit and yellow tie, was SVU Bureau Chief Andrew Beale.

_Great…he's probably here for proof that we're out-of-control screw-ups, but I can't stop to cope with him now…I've got Howie and his shift to handle first…._

Cragen made it halfway across the squad room before he was noticed.

"Good God, Captain—what happened to you?"

_Gee, Pete…it's nice to see you, too…._

He glanced around the two dozen faces now staring at him and settled on Detective Brewster's gape-mouthed look of shock.

"Howie, my office."

He said it calmly, not as a command, but Howie leapt as though goosed and beat Cragen to his door. Once inside, Cragen sank into his chair. Brewster hovered over him, but he retreated to the safe side of the desk when Cragen growled at him.

"Howie, I need everyone on your shift to ignore anything that might happen this evening."

"But, Cap—"

"I'm probably asking the impossible, but do it anyway. The further away you stay from this, the safer your jobs will be."

"That bad, Cap?

Cragen leaned forward and rested his cast on his desk. His jaw throbbed and all his joints and muscles ached.

"Yeah, that bad."

"Then we'll ignore everything. Hear no Stabler, see no Otten, speak no Tutuola."

Brewster's solemn expression was ruined by one raised red eyebrow.

"Cute, Howie—real cute."

Howie rested his knuckles on the edge of Cragen's desk.

"Can I at least ask why Tucker is here?"

"No," Cragen said. "He's had a rough day."

Howie's guffaw rang bitter and cold. "What goes around, comes around—even for rats."

Cragen stood up, a move his body protested with pain and joint crackles. He glowered at Brewster until the detective straightened his posture and stood eyes-front, ready to listen and obey.

"For now, Sergeant Tucker is one of ours. Any departmental crap that lands on us will hit him, too. Lay off him until I say otherwise—I mean it, Howie."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, go start ignoring us."

As soon as Brewster left, Cragen took three Ibuprofen tablets from his desk drawer and dry-swallowed them.

_Probably should have gotten those painkillers at the ER…the way I ache, I'll be stiff as a frozen fish by ten o'clock…._

"Captain Cragen?"

Bureau Chief Beale stood inside the doorway. He gaze flicked over the captain's left wrist in its cast, his right hand bearing the weight as Cragen leaned on his desk, then to his face, where it catalogued the bruised jaw and the weariness that deepened every crease and wrinkle.

Cragen eyed him warily before welcoming him in with a single nod. Beale acknowledged his nod with one of his own before taking a seat. He leaned back in the chair and laced his fingers behind his head.

"What are you doing here?" Cragen demanded.

"I know you wanted McCoy—and thanks for the vote of support—but Jack is waiting for a verdict in the Vallicella trial. I told Branch that when it's my people, then it's my problem. By the way, you look awful."

"Thanks. Now, what are you doing here?"

Beale rested his hands on his ample belly and stuck out both index fingers.

"I put out my feelers and pick up rumors: Chief of Department Sullivan on the rampage, Chief deMichelis _non compos mentis_, and you, your detectives, and Ed Tucker all huddled together on the hot seat. I don't know what happened, but it appears screwed-up on an epic scale. A look at you tells me that you're not up to the job."

Cragen lifted his hand from his desk and stood without its support.

_You may be right, but I'm sure as hell not admitting it to you…._

"See, Don? You're already so stiff you can't speak to defend yourself."

Beale folded his fingers and smiled, his grin a curve carved in Crisco.

"You think I'm a micromanaging jerk. I'm also someone Sullivan can't touch and that is exactly what you need right now. Give me the Wilkerson interrogation. I'll keep your brass off your back while you handle the rest of whatever this mess is."

Cragen blinked at the man before him, the officious little butterball who made him long for the days of Liz Donnelly. For an instant, everything stopped hurting.

_Help keeps showing up from the damnedest places…._

"It's a deal," Cragen told him, "but only if you give my people the room they need to work."

"They'll have it." Beale shoved himself upright and turned to leave. Over his shoulder, he said, "I had Sofarelli call in a deli order. Otten said you wanted egg salad."

_Yeah, a nice soft sandwich with plenty of onion and garlic in case Sullivan shows up…._

"Thanks."

Beale waved his hand for a "You're welcome" before he headed to the observation room. Cragen grabbed his bottle of Ibuprofen and followed, ignoring the gazes that tracked him from heads turned discreetly away.

_I know…I look like something the cat crapped out before dragging it in…._

This time, he entered the room and waited while everyone got a good look at his appearance. No one said anything.

_Beale must have warned them…._

"Okay, people," he announced. "Is IAB still breathing down our necks over Wilkerson?"

In the corner, Munch straightened his stance with a nervous jerk that kept his face in shadow.

"Those two goons were from the Operations Unit," he answered. "Sullivan sent them—at least, that's what they said after Couch arrested them."

"Arrested them? For what?"

Munch leaned forward so the light through the one-way glass fell on him. His glasses were gone and a bag of frozen baby peas held in his left hand hid his face. He moved the peas to display a bruise that ran from eyebrow to his left nostril.

_What'd they do—use you as a battering ram?_

Fin rocked back on his heels, his sour grimace signaling his distress at John's injury. Elliot settled for a hushed "Bet that hurts" while Beale rolled his eyes at further proof that SVU was staffed by idiots. Casey went over to Munch and examined his face with a cold, clinical stare.

"You must have called him something polysyllabic," she said.

A muffled guffaw sounded behind Cragen. Judith clamped a hand to her mouth and swallowed the rest of her laugh while Tucker gave John a "thumbs up" of approval. John glared at both of them, the death-ray effect ruined by his missing dark lenses, before turning back to finish his report.

"Lieutenants Cutler and Sloane from Operations arrived before I could hide Wilkerson so we shifted to Plan B: having Couch verbally provoke them into taking a swing at him and thereby winning a visit to our holding tank. However, Cutler connected with my face. I blame that on this being the thirteenth of the month, even though it's not Friday."

"Then what happened?"

John's gaze unfocused as he recalled his next action then his lips pulled back into a proud grin.

"I knocked him right on his bureaucratic ass."

Cragen swung around to Couch for verification. Couch nodded.

"Straight in, nice hip torque, put his whole body behind it—t'was a thing of beauty. If you want to see the replay, Sgt. Neville is making us copies of the security tape."

"Weren't you supposed to be doing the provoking and the ducking?"

"I wasn't nasty enough for John's tastes," Couch told Cragen. "He butted in to show me how and Cutler took offense at his example. John also had Sgt. Neville transfer them to the One-Two-One for booking before he disappeared behind those frozen peas."

"I figured that the long drive to Staten Island would do them some good and keep them out of our way," Munch explained.

Cragen let out a long hissing sigh, a sigh echoed by Bureau Chief Beale.

"I'm always gratified to see professionals in action," Beale said. "Now, Captain—how about telling us what's going on?"

Cragen glanced around the room, making certain that he had everyone's attention before he begin with the meeting at Stabler's church. Elliot and Fin quietly continued their tactical discussion, stopping only when Cragen told of Olivia's arrival at the hospital and the actions of Bronx D.A. Martinez. Otten and Tucker listened intently to Cragen's description of how Sullivan handled the warehouse investigation and as he described deMichelis' apathy and Conrad's unexpected help.

Munch and Couch paid close attention to the whole story, especially when Cragen disclosed the degree of danger their partners and teammates had faced. John's haughty stance lost its starch when Cragen told how Fin had been sent to face two armed rats by himself. Couch held his breath during the search for Lau by Tucker and Judith as though its outcome might yet harm his partner.

_Good, the ties between you guys are still there…that's one big fear I can forget about…_

Although he tried to play it down, everyone in the room greeted his refusal to be held hostage with open admiration and respect.

_Yeah, I still have it in me…let's hope I never have to prove that again…._

"…now you know the current score," he told them. "Elliot, Fin—Beale's overseeing the interrogation. You ready to work on Wilkerson?"

Elliot and Fin jerked their heads in unison to stare at Beale. Fin kept his glare on the chief's smug smile while Stabler questioned his captain's sanity with raised eyebrows. Cragen answered Elliot's query with a steady gaze and a sharp nod. Elliot responded by sighing through pursed lips and snapping the case folder shut.

"We're on it, Cap."

Fin switched his glare to Elliot before erasing the sneer from his own face.

"Yeah," he said, "we're ready. We're gonna cover the basics then hit Wilkerson with Lau's death, Eristoff's injury, and Stanton's suicide. Couch found a call to him from Lau right before Stanton went back to his station house; it ties her accomplice to his suicide."

"We need her motive," Elliot added. "Everyone else did it for the money; we need to find out the why for her."

Cragen pointed his index finger at him. "I'm not risking our asses for extortion. You get her on Delgado and Henry's murders and you do it yesterday."

Both men nodded. Elliot turned to open the door, but Beale's approach stopped him.

"I want Tucker in there with you," the bureau chief said. "His participation will show that she's been abandoned—that it's not just us, but also IAB who wants her pinned to the wall."

Cragen met the demand with a sigh.

_Should have caught that myself….okay, Beale—now I owe you two…._

"Tucker," he said, "you up for this?"

Sergeant Tucker turned to him with a haunted gaze that, for the first time, made him look like a trapped rat. He glanced at Judith, then at the cell phone still held in his hand. His mouth worked as though he wanted to spit then he answered Cragen's question.

"Sure—hell, why not? Always wanted to end my career on a low note."

He handed Judith his phone before joining Stabler and Tutuola by the door.

"Whatever you need to know about Diane: her cases, her work habits, her personal life," he told them, "it's yours."

"Sounds good to me," Elliot said.

He opened the door, letting Tucker enter first, then he went in. Fin paused just long enough to catch his partner's attention.

"Picking fights at your age is damned stupid," he said before closing the door behind him.

"My partner loves me; all's well with the world," John announced to the room at-large.

"Your corner of it—maybe," Cragen said, his gaze fixed on the older man's battered face. "The rest of it needs a lot of work. Let's head to my office and see if we can stay employed through this evening."

13 June  
Interrogation Room

"You are aware that you can have an attorney or your rep here."

It wasn't a question. Any rat worth her salt knew exactly what rights an accused person had, but Elliot had to state it for the record.

Diane Wilkerson smiled. Despite her slight resemblance to Olivia Benson, Wilkerson's smile was not the elegantly cheerful curve made by his partner's lips. It began with a upward twitch of her mouth's right corner followed by a shallower curve of the left.

_When she was a kid, it might have been cute…now, she looks like she's keeping secrets for the hell of it…_

"Yes, I know. I waive that right."

"Do you know why you're here?"

Her gaze swept from him seated across the table from her to Tucker standing behind him by the door then to Fin standing to his right at the end of the table.

"It has something do with Detective Tutuola's arresting me."

_Damn…she's going to play games…._

Fin stepped around the table to her side. He sneered down at her, arms folded across his chest to signal his disdain.

"I arrested you for blackmailing our captain and one of our detectives. Remember doin' that?"

Her smile never wavered as she said, "That is one way to describe it."

Fin's gaze flicked over to Elliot, who nodded once.

"I call it extortion," he said, drawing out the word. "You also had Captain Cragen roughed up and tried to take him hostage so you could escape. Know a pretty way to describe that?"

She turned to smile up at Fin's face and said nothing. Elliot rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward.

"You get to take the fall for this by yourself."

Wilkerson's gaze shifted from Fin to Elliot and her eyes narrowed.

"Yeah," Elliot continued. "There's no one else left. Lau was killed at the warehouse, shot trying to get away."

Her only reaction was a raised eyebrow. Behind him, Elliot heard Tucker's foot scuff against the linoleum.

"I shot him, Diane," the IAB agent said. "Greg fired first and I killed him. Thanks for setting that up for me; I really appreciate it."

_Spreading the sarcasm a bit thick there, Tucker…but it's working…._

Wilkerson's smile faded as she turned her attention to Tucker.

"Ed," she said, pausing for a deep sigh, "I'm so sorry. The purpose of this wasn't to hurt you. Please tell me you're not in trouble for this."

Fin smacked the table and her head jerked around at the sound.

"We don't care about Tucker's troubles. We don't care about dead rats—not Lau in the warehouse or Stanton at the Two-Seven."

_Nice segue, Fin…couldn't have done it smoother myself…._

"Yeah, Billy-boy Stanton; he blew his face off in a broom closet not long after I put you in cuffs."

Fin had his mouth right up against Wilkerson's ear, telling her the news of Stanton's death in a slow, steady whisper. Her eyes unfocused and she swallowed once.

_That got to her…._

"That should not have happened. Something went wrong."

"What?" Elliot asked.

"I don't know. I'll have to consider it."

She folded her hands in her lap then dropped her gaze until she was staring at them and said nothing more. Fin stood up and glanced from her to Elliot then turned to Tucker. His narrowed eyes and raised eyebrow asked the same question bothering Elliot.

_What the hell is wrong with this woman? Two accomplices dead and we imply that third is, but she doesn't bat an eyelash…_

He left his chair and walked over to Tucker.

"Is she always this cool?" he whispered.

"Yeah—the joke is she has Vulcan blood. Maybe she'll react if we tell her about Chuck."

Elliot shrugged before taking his seat again.

"I'm glad I wasn't in on this with you," he told Wilkerson. "The people around you die."

She raised her head; the crooked smile back in place, her dark eyes fixed on his face.

"Everyone? You mean Chuck, too? You're wrong. He was alive when I—"

Wilkerson held still, not even breathing, waiting for confirmation of her abbreviated statement. Elliot's grin was broad and as fake as hers.

"Last I heard, Eristoff was in surgery. I don't know if he'll make it."

…_and I don't know that he won't…._

"I'm afraid you're the only one left. The brass, the media, the D.A…"

He jerked his head back to indicate Tucker.

"…IAB—everyone needs someone to blame and you're the only one in their sights. How's it feel to be the donkey while we pin on you extortion, assault, attempted abduction...?"

Wilkerson rested her elbow on the table and cupped her chin in her hand.

"Sounds like I finally got their attention."


	13. Vindication: Part Two

13 June  
Main entrance to the SVU Squad Room  
7:23 p.m.

Olivia Benson arrived at the squad room door just as Otten, Sofarelli, Munch, and Cragen were leaving his office.

_What's happening here? Heads are turned, chairs spun so that no one's facing them as they go by…are we all being shunned now? Cragen's walking like he really hurts…compared to him, John's bounding across the room—son of a bitch! Someone clocked John good…I must have missed something big… Judith looks naked without her shoulder holster and she's moving like she's on autopilot… Couch is close by, but he's scowling and she just gave him a really worried glance…damn shame, all the shit she's in, she needs the support of her partner right now…._

The four entered the hallway. Munch, third out, greeted Benson first.

"Welcome to the land of the unemployed."

"Huh? What happened?"

Cragen let the door to the squad close behind him before answering.

"When Tommy finds out John decked his lieutenant, I'm sure he'll join the suspended list. How's Eristoff?"

Olivia ignored the question to stare at Munch. He responded to her attention with a profile pose that displayed the bruise in all its purpling glory.

"I think it makes me look dashing, " he said, giving her a come-hither leer.

_Without your glasses, you look like a myopic meerkat—sorry, but it's not that appealing._

"Purple," she said, "doesn't look good on either of you."

Cragen cleared his throat. "Eristoff?"

Olivia swallowed a chuckle before answering.

"According to his doctor, out until mid-morning. Taylor and Atkins are sitting on him. They'll call you if anyone moves him. Have you eaten?"

Cragen nodded. "We're meeting in the Observation Room for an update."

He, Munch, and Otten headed left down the hall. Before Olivia could follow, Couch's voice halted her. He slouched against the door frame as though his legs could not hold him upright, tie loose around his neck, his mouth compressed into a frown.

"Do you know the whole story about what happened today?"

She nodded. "Cragen filled me in via cell phone on his way back here."

"Can you explain something to me?"

"Sure. What?"

"We just spent the last thirty minutes planning to bring down the Chief of Department. I don't understand why we're doing this. I asked John earlier and he gave me a diatribe against The Man. It sounded silly coming from a thirty-year veteran."

_It's both silly and typical…._

"Don't let the neatly knotted tie fool you," she said. "John's an unreconstructed hippie. I sometimes think he's here only to undermine the establishment."

Olivia's humor served only to deepen Couch's worried frown.

"Okay, but what about everyone else? Why are they so willing to go against Chief Sullivan?"

"Willing? Sullivan forced us into it. Someone has to stand up to…."

Olivia bit off the rest of her rant.

_He's not looking for a stirring speech…he wants to know why his team, a bunch of people he barely knows, are risking their careers over this…._

She settled against the wall next to him.

"Maybe some history will help," she said. "About fifteen years ago, Peter O'Farrell, Chief of Operations and Cragen's rabbi, went dirty. IAB and the D.A.'s office leaned on Cragen until he wore a wire and trapped him. That left a bad taste in some important mouths. Everyone knows that Don Cragen is a great captain: he understands the system and how to work it; he sticks up for his people like no other C.O. I know. His units' close rates are always high. Despite that, he'll never be promoted because he did the honest thing—not the blue thing—and brought down a Chief.

"Now, it's happening again. Sullivan didn't want Cragen and your partner to catch crooked rats; he doesn't want justice for those murdered cops. He only wants to embarrass Chief deMichelis and force him out as head of IAB. That really offends Cragen. He and Sullivan are old friends, but he's pissed about being used and he's not taking it lying down this time. He's on the attack."

She paused to choose her words carefully.

"We're willing to join him in this because we trust him and because SVU isn't like the other detective squads. Over the years, we've faced the same choice over and over—do the right thing or do the blue thing. We've learned that helping the victims is more important than loyalty to dishonest, self-serving people.

"That's why Fin and Elliot are disobeying a direct order from Chief Sullivan—they trust our captain and they see Sullivan's actions as illegal and corrupting. John, too—he did what he did because, under all that cynicism, he still believes in doing what's right. Their decisions put them all in the same canoe without a paddle floating down the same shit stream. If I have to, I'll be there with them, too."

Couch's eyes narrowed as he looked away.

_I know what you're thinking... is this really worth your job? Wish I could tell you it is, but you have to decide for yourself..._

"Nothing here is black or white," she continued, "and I can't swear that everyone will live happily ever after. If this makes you uncomfortable, no one here will blame you if you sit it out. We all know how risky it is."

She peered closely at Couch.

"Does that help any?"

He mulled her words for a few moments and nodded.

"Sort of, but you didn't mention Judith."

Olivia swallowed hard.

_I could play you…tell you that Judith can handle this easily…you'd believe me and go home and I'd have someone to work tomorrow with me…but you can't build a team on lies…._

She bit her lip and considered her words.

_Might as well be blunt…Judith would be…._

"Judith shot one of us. That Lau was crooked and the shoot was line of duty doesn't matter; it's going to cloud her mind and twist her gut like no other shooting can. But remember—someone always pays when a cop gets killed. Fin thinks Sullivan will dump it on Tucker. However, Judith's over fifty, female, just cut herself loose from all her bunkies in Brooklyn…"

Couch interrupted. "...and everyone here who should be in her corner has troubles of their own…except me."

"Yeah."

His gaze slid from her face to the floor. Olivia counted to nine before he jerked his head up and spoke.

"I'd better go see how Judith's doing."

He turned toward the Observation Room; Olivia fell into step next to him.

_That had to be a hard decision...they've been together only a few weeks and his trust in her took a big hit this week...I'm not sure I'd have stuck by Elliot if this had happened to us my first month here..._

Couch held the door for her, closing it behind him after he entered the Observation Room. He went to join Judith, who was standing next to Tucker.

_Elliot looks like hell, but he's back safe… John's hovering behind Fin…given how worried we were earlier about them, I certainly understand…very thankful we're back together and mostly in one piece….Tucker hovering at the edge of our group…he looks as dragged out as Judith does…._

Elliot was catching them up on the interrogation. He paused to give her a nod in greeting as she walked to his side.

"Wilkerson," he continued, "barely blinked after learning that her accomplices are dead—"

"—or pronounced dead by Elliot," Fin added.

"She admits to everything that happened today," Elliot said, "but we haven't touched on Delgado and Henry yet. What's new on the Sullivan front?"

Cragen stepped into the center of the group. He cradled his cast with his right arm; Olivia had never seen him so drawn and worn. Casey leaned close to her boss and whispered something. Beale nodded and she left the room.

"Two things, the first I think is good. Duty Chief Verbeck is spitting mad over Sullivan's handling of the investigation. She's planning to protest it at tonight's meeting."

"How do you know that?" Fin asked.

"Helena Katz told me," Cragen answered. "I know her from the Anti-Corruption Task Force; now, she works with Verbeck. According to her, Verbeck has drawn up a list of problematic directions and orders given by Sullivan. It will be part of her report to Commissioner Richardson."

Munch added, "We also have Ken Saunders, who leads the team investigating Lau's shooting. Sullivan told him outright how to report the shooting—Tucker scores, Otten gets the assist. Saunders didn't want to be the only one speaking against the official report. When I told him that Verbeck also planned to stand up, Ken promised to tell Chief Richardson about the pressure from Sullivan."

"That's two," said Cragen. "We're still out-gunned, but at least we're not alone."

"What about Chief Conrad?" Elliot asked. "He helped Fin and me out; that might count for something."

Fin shook his head. "He didn't say or do anything 'til Sullivan left. He had plenty of chances to speak up and he let them all slide."

"Well, we'll see how that goes when it goes," Cragen said. "The second item shows us what we're up against. Judith?"

Judith had been staring at the floor. At his words, she straightened and glanced in Tucker's direction.

"Yeah, go ahead," he told her. "I know you already listened to them in the captain's office."

She reached into her slacks pocket and pulled out his cell phone. After some button-pushing, his messages began to play over the phone's speaker.

Unidentified Voice #1: You killed one of our own, Tucker. Next bullet better go into your cocksucking mouth.

Judith saved the message.

Unidentified Voice #2: Ed, I just heard you volunteered to take down Greg. What the fuck do you—"

She cut that one off to play the beginning of the next two messages.

Unidentified Voice #3: Sid told me that you shot Greg to keep him quiet. You really in on this with him?

Unidentified Voice #4: You come in tomorrow and Stoller will have to tell Joan you aren't coming home—"

Judith closed the phone and handed it to Tucker. He gripped it as though he would rather fling it against the wall before he clipped it to his belt.

"Stoller's my lieutenant," he said. "Joan's my wife."

"Then that's a death threat," Olivia blurted, her stomach churning at the thought. The faces around her mirrored her shock.

_Sullivan set up Tucker, turned his own people against him…another part of making IAB look out-of-control or a warning to us? _

"I'm the one they should be threatening." Judith said, her words so soft they could have been thought, not spoken.

"How do you know?" Couch asked.

"The shots to Lau were center chest, center chest, outside left jaw, and left shoulder above the collarbone. Martinez had our last range scores; he said that Ed barely passed."

Judith winced then turned her attention to Tucker.

"Sorry, Ed. I shouldn't have let that one slip."

"S'okay. None of us are hitting on all cylinders right now."

"We'd better be," Cragen said, his tone harsh and firm. "We need a confession out of Wilkerson. Any suggestions?

"She seems eager to tell us something," Fin responded, "but she's waiting for us to find the right question. We ask it and everything's gonna pour out."

"The key to this has to be financial," Elliot said. "It's the one thing that makes her stand out from her partners. She didn't take any money from this."

Beale nodded toward the interrogation room door. "So let's figure out how to ask her; see what she says."

Elliot glanced at Fin and Tucker. "You guys ready?"

Fin nodded. Tucker shrugged. Beale ambled over to Elliot and the four of them began to discuss tactics.

The hall door opened and Casey returned with a wooden stool. She set it between where Cragen was standing and the one-way glass.

"In case you want it, Don," she said before joining the group discussing Wilkerson.

Olivia watched Cragen stare at the stool.

_Like a thirsty dog eyes a water bowl just out of reach…you're not leashed—go ahead…don't be proud for us…._

From where he was leaning against the wall, John called out, "If you don't sit down, I will."

"Rank before age, John." Cragen sat with a grunt and a sigh.

In the opposite corner, Couch and Judith were talking together.

"Yes, but the damage has been done," Judith said. "Ed always will be 'the guy who killed one of ours.' It doesn't matter how this is smoothed over; it's impossible to work where you're hated."

Olivia glanced at Munch, who was staring idly through the one-way glass at Wilkerson.

_Don't tell me you're not listening… your head's tipped in her direction…every word she says pertains to her, too…._

"Now, go do it."

Beale's command signaled the end of the tactical discussion. Fin and Tucker entered the Interrogation room while Elliot headed to his partner.

She greeted him with "It's been a hell of a day."

"Yeah. You still clear of all this?"

"So far."

That got her the first grin she'd seen from him all day.

"Good. You can catch up my paperwork while I'm on suspension."

"Like hell I will."

He shook his head, the grin melting into a wry smile.

"Some partner you are," he told her then he joined Fin and Tucker, closing the door behind him.

Warmed by the compliment and cheered by his joking, she moved next to Cragen and Beale to watch her partner demolish Sgt. Diane Wilkerson.

13 June  
Interrogation Room

They'd shifted positions for this round. Tucker straddled a chair to the left of Wilkerson, just behind her range of view. Elliot had directed him to throw in facts and comments when appropriate. Fin sat across the table from her to observe any tics or expressions that Elliot might miss as he roamed around the room.

A legal pad and two pencils on the table, brought in by Fin, showed their willingness to accept a voluntary statement.

Wilkerson called a polite "Good-bye" to the policewoman who had been watching her. After the officer left, she turned her attention to Stabler, who was standing behind Fin with his arms folded across his chest.

"Sgt. Wilkerson, we did the math," he told her. "You were blackmailing approximately thirty people and bringing in over $300,000 a year. That's a nice payment for some research, a meeting with the victim to set things up, and then the monthly collections."

"They weren't victims," she informed him. "They were self-selected. Had they kept their uniforms buttoned, they wouldn't have met my criteria."

"Yours or yours and Eristoff's?"

She nodded. "Mine. I determined the selection parameters and Chuck found the subjects. There's fewer personnel assigned to Staten Island, so we focused on the other boroughs."

"So," Tucker said, "Chuck, Greg, and Bill did the work and you ran the operation?"

Wilkerson twisted in her chair, resting her arm over the back of it.

"Well, it was my idea, Ed. I brought Chuck in because I couldn't evaluate all the potential subjects by myself. When the subject pool became too large for us to handle, Chuck suggested we recruit field associates to do the scutwork. It wasn't hard to find two who needed additional income; nowadays, overspending is the norm. I've listened to you complain about Joanie's spending enough."

Tucker leaned forward, a wistful smile on his face.

"So why didn't you come to me? I wouldn't have minded a few thousand extra a month coming in."

She flashed her crooked smile at him. "You're a friend, Ed. You wouldn't have been clinical enough."

"Clinical?" asked Elliot, walking over to stand by Tucker.

"Yes, clinical. I needed a good sampling of uniforms, detectives, and brass with a broad spectrum of ethnic types. I even included two gay couples and one lesbian pair."

"How long did these couples stay together after they became subjects?" Fin asked, emphasizing 'subjects'.

She turned around in her chair and placed her hands folded on the table. "Not long, maybe two-three months at the most. That didn't matter; what was important is how their careers ran after they started paying us. After all, they had to stay on the job for everything to work."

Fin's mouth twitched, the only sign he gave of his surprise at Wilkerson's explanation.

_Yeah, I caught that. Everyone they blackmailed broke up after two months, but Delgado and Henry had been paying for nine months when they were murdered in bed together...what's that about?_

Elliot took a quick look at Tucker. He had gone pale and was swallowing rapidly.

_Hold it in there, Ed…just because you may be right about their murders being set up doesn't mean you can upchuck on our perp…._

"Let's talk about the 'subjects'," Elliot said. He perched on the end of the table and kept his voice calm and friendly. "You started with how many of them?"

"Thirty-six."

"How many did you have now?"

"Twenty-nine."

"What happened to the seven?"

Wilkerson unfolded her hands and used them to shrug. "Five left the department. It's hard to make people pay a fee when the inducement to pay is no longer there. I told them that they were good only if they didn't demand an investigation. We stay clean; they stay clean."

"And the other two?"

She sighed. "Murder-suicide was the official determination. A shame, really. It came at an awkward time for me."

Tucker jerked in his chair, gathering himself to bolt to his feet. Elliot straightened his fingers, hoping he would recognize a signal to stay still and quiet.

"For you?" he asked. "Why was it awkward?"

"I needed thirty people for a good sample and one had just resigned. Those deaths dropped my count below minimum and necessitated my finding another couple."

Wilkerson glanced around at the three detectives and sighed again.

"Which is why I am here. Captain Cragen and Detective Otten had us all fooled. My compliments to them both."

"They'll be thrilled."

_I didn't know that sentence could be spat, but Fin managed…and without shifting his sneer…that's real disgust in action…._

He tapped on the table next to Fin and nodded at Tucker. The three detectives followed him to the far corner by the hallway door.

"Anyone else getting the same vibe I am?" he asked.

"You mean the 'I'm a scientist and they're my lab rats' one?"

Tucker gave Fin's comment a sharp nod. "Yeah—me, too. It sounds more like a social experiment than extortion."

Elliot leaned nearer to Tucker. "Could it be true?"

Tucker stared at Wilkerson. "You mean is Diane doing all this to test a theor—oh, shit!"

His eyes went wide.

"She mentioned something a while ago. I need to make a phone call. Does that door open?"

Elliot nodded. Tucker yanked it open and let it swing shut behind him.

Fin stepped closer. "What's he up to?"

"Don't know. He's got the history with her, not me."

He glanced over his shoulder.

_No taps on the window…we must still be good…._

At the table, Diane Wilkerson watched them for a second then her attention wandered to the pad and pencils before her.

_How about writing it all out for us? End the suspense and give us a chance to get out of here before more shit lands on us…._

"She's a piece of work, isn't she?"

Fin grunted in reply. Elliot blew out a breath and shifted his weight from one foot to the other then back again.

C'mon, Ed…hurry it up… 

As if listening, Tucker returned. His face was florid and his hands shook on the doorknob.

"Don't let me near her," he whispered to Elliot. "I'm not kidding. Let me stay over here."

"Why? What did you find out?"

"About two years ago, she proposed to Chief deMichelis that we stop firing cops who were screwing on-the-job. She said it was a waste of their training and experience. She proposed fining them—make them pay a 'blue sex' tax on their affairs. The chief filed it in the circular file where it belonged."

My turn to choke back vomit…this really was an experiment…three dozen subjects…Cap beat to hell…two people killed…all to prove a point…. 

"Got more like her on the Rat Squad?"

Tucker flinched under Fin's sarcasm. "God, I hope not."

"Okay, let's nail this down. Tucker, Fin—you want point?"

Tucker stepped back, hands up to fend off the question. Fin jerked his head sideways.

"I don't want to talk to her. I don't even want to look at her."

"Then let's make this quick."

As soon as the two detectives were back in their seats, Elliot resumed his perch on the table.

"Subjects, samples, clinical—you make this sound like an experiment. Was it?"

Wilkerson rewarded his question with a nod of approval and a big smile.

"Exactly. I wanted to prove to my CO that it was more cost-effective to keep adulterers on the job than to fire them. He wasn't interested in my estimates so I had to produce actual data."

"Which was?"

"Of the thirty-six subjects over the course of a full year, five left the force, one was promoted, two earned commendations, and nineteen had no change to their duty status while paying for the privilege of having an on-the-job affair. The department could have made over $300,000 dollars and saved the tremendous cost of hiring and training their replacements. I don't see how deMichelis can ignore this now; my findings are that obvious."

Fin tensed. Behind the sergeant, Tucker looked ready to strangle her.

Steady, guys… 

"You said $300,000. Where is that money now?"

"I had to pay Chuck, Greg, and Bill for their participation in my project. Of course, once Chief deMichelis takes over, the income from the fees will go into departmental coffers."

"How much did you give them?"

"About six thousand a month each."

"What about you? Did you take anything for your troubles?"

She shook her head firmly. "My share went to the projects supported by my church: our nuclear disarmament task force, Stop Handgun Violence Now, our drive to end the death penalty in this country, the local soup kitchen, and the Girl Scouts:."

"The Girl Scouts?"

"Yes; I'm a troop leader."

Elliot slid from the table and took a step back.

"Lady, I wouldn't let my daughters anywhere near you."

She blinked at him in confusion. "Why not?"

Tucker stood up and mouthed, "Let me." Elliot stepped behind Fin and waved Tucker over to take his place.

"Because you either participated in or arranged the murders of Officers Joseph Delgado and Karen Henry. Why? Did they threaten your precious experiment?"

Wilkerson sat upright and stared right at Tucker, her lips drawn, jaw clenched. The sudden appearance of anger in her face after all her calm surprised Elliot.

"Yes," she spat. "They did. Joe informed me that he and Karen were arranging a meeting with their borough chief. He said he was going to tell him everything. He wanted to steal my project and take the credit. I'd worked so hard to get the program up-and-running. I couldn't let him ruin it."

" 'Steal your project'?" Tucker shouted at her. "Delgado couldn't keep paying your demands!"

Wilkerson's anger vanished, replaced by the professional coolness she had showed them earlier.

"Then he should have said so," she said calmly. "How can I set reasonable fees if I don't get valid feedback from everyone involved?"

Tucker drew his fist back. Fin jumped up and blocked him.

"Don't, man. She ain't worth more trouble."

Elliot put a hand on Tucker's arm and guided him away from the table.

Wilkerson called after him, "Ed, you didn't understand when I first mentioned this, but it should be obvious now. My way is a much more efficient system—"

Elliot spun back to face her.

"—that left two officers dead, not to mention some rats."

"Field associates," she corrected him. "Lau and Stanton are field associates."

_Shit, lady...you sicken me, you sicken Fin, you even sicken Ed and he's a friend of yours...it's time to hit you with the fact that you're one freaked-out bitch..._

He braced one hand against the table, one on the back of her chair and leaned into her until they were nose-to-nose, eyes scant inches apart.

"I said 'rats' and I meant rats. Not IAB rats—we can live with them—but black-mailing, murderous, scum-sucking rats who ruined the lives of thirty-six fellow officers and then murdered two of them."

Wilkerson leaned away from his fury, but the calm, righteous set of her jaw never wavered.

_Don't go self-righteous with me...you hurt Cap...tried to hide behind him as your hostage...you'd have ruined him and Judith the same way you ruined all your other 'subjects'—not a clean firing, but a long slow torture by blackmail...just to prove your idea is better..._

"You tell me," Elliot demanded, "you tell me how you got two armed police officers to strip naked and crawl into a motel bed so you and your rat-fink experimenters could make it look like murder-suicide."

"I did no such thing! That would be—it would be…."

Her voice trailed off as she sought for words. Elliot waited for her to continue.

"Greg planned it," she finally said. "He sent text messages to the two of them arranging a meeting at the motel. He and Chuck planned to make it look like an argument that got out of hand. When they found Joe and Karen in bed, they went with the Romeo and Juliet scenario instead."

"Did you know about it?"

"Of course."

"Did you okay it beforehand?"

"Yes. I didn't like it, but it was necessary."

Fin shoved the legal pad across the table.

"Write it down," he told her, his voice tight with disgust. "You know the drill."

Elliot stepped away as she picked up a pencil and put the date at the top of the paper.

"Ed," she said as she started to write, "you'll see that Chief deMichelis gets the results of my work, won't you?"

Tucker stood up. He walked past her and left the room without answering. Fin caught Elliot's attention.

"I'm outta here, too."

_Sounds good to me….all I want now is her in Rikers and a long hot shower..._

In the Observation Room, Tucker slumped against the wall, his head shaking slow as if denying what his friend had just admitted. Fin stood just inside the room, blocking Elliot's path. His body was taut as he stared at the only person watching the interrogation—Bureau Chief Beale.

_What the hell..._

Elliot pushed past Fin to confront Beale.

"Cap, Liv—where are they?" he demanded. "Where's everyone?"

"Sullivan came through here like Sherman through Georgia," Beale answered. "He wants you in Don's office—now."


	14. Invective

13 June  
Observation Room

Casey turned the speaker back on as soon as Elliot shut the door to the Interrogation Room. His voice came thin and tinny through the ancient box.

Det. Stabler: Sgt. Wilkerson, we did the math. You were blackmailing approximately thirty people and bringing in over $300,000 a year….

"Three hundred thousand!"

John left the wall where he'd been leaning to join the group at the window.

"That's ten thousand a year per victim," he said. "Can you imagine handing over that much of your pay?"

Olivia chuckled. "You're safe, John—unless you've told her 'I do.' "

Sgt. Wilkerson: They weren't victims. They were self-selected. Had they kept their uniforms buttoned, they wouldn't have met my criteria.

"That's cold," Casey said. Cragen nodded his agreement.

Stabler: Yours or yours and Eristoff's?

Beale pointed at Stabler. "Good question, well-timed. It forces her to claim sole responsibility or share it on the record with Chuck Eristoff."

Judith Otten leaning against the back wall, feet braced to keep her back flat against the plaster, her arms folded across her chest. Her eyes faced the one-way glass, but she paid the interrogation no attention and ignored her partner's concerned stare.

_How many bodies? Sixteen years in Homicide…hundreds of cases, hundreds of bodies…one more shouldn't bother me...but this one I killed…I've turned two living people into bodies…Jerome Rankin, who attacked his girlfriend with a filet knife back when I walked a beat...and Greg Lau today…two bullets, center chest… dead before I reached him…._

The memory ran through her mind like a looped filmstrip.

_Two muzzle flashes across the aisle…the sound of a bullet just above my right ear…aim and fire twice…just like practice at the range…Ed…same action at the same time…nothing but discharge noise and flash dazzle…then Elliot telling me Fin's inside—what if it's Fin?_

She shuddered.

_...but it was Lau…supine…still…no need to check his pulse…blood doesn't pool in a bullet hole when the heart is beating…two bullets...turned from a living human being into dead meat…by me….do you feel the bullet that kills you instantly?_

"Hey, partner—"

_No honor guard…no dress uniforms…no black bunting on his photo displayed at his unit...only whatever ceremony his family might arrange…no chance to say "Good-bye" or "I love you"…no chance for him to repent and make atonement…he can never ask forgiveness from his victims or make amends…I took that from him…_

"Judith?"

…_people feared him…paid blackmail to him… our captain hurt…Delgado and Henry dead… blackmailer… murderer… bad cop... crooked rat...he shot at Ed and me…two bullets fired by me…he saw the muzzle flash…knew I returned fire…two bullets… two hot stabs…piercing living flesh…no longer living…._

"Judith, are you okay?"

A hand touched her shoulder—her partner, standing by her, searching her face, wondering how he could help.

"Yes," she said, "I'm—"

_No…not 'fine'…enough lies today…._

"—kind of a basket case right now."

Couch kept his hand on her shoulder while he hissed to get Olivia's attention.

"Judith," he said, "she's trembling. Shock?"

John peered over his shoulder at them. His blank expression offered no advice. Olivia nodded then leaned closer to Cragen.

"Vodka?" she whispered.

"No," he answered. "Not on an empty stomach; she didn't touch her sandwich."

Loud enough for Couch to hear, he said, "Why don't you and Judith head up to the lounge? Get some hot tea with sugar and take some time away from this."

Judith's head bobbed unevenly as her lips formed the words "Thank you." Olivia took a step toward her.

"I'll take care of the tea."

"Don't," Cragen told her. "I need you here."

Olivia glared at her captain. Behind him, Casey mirrored her annoyance at his order.

"In that case, I'll get the tea," she said sharply. "I'll met you two upstairs."

She barged through the door, followed by Couch and his partner, Judith walking with the unsteady gate of someone who needs support but won't use it. Everyone but Munch watched them leave. He observed Elliot's questioning of Wilkerson through the one-way glass.

_Otten, falling apart…it's a real shame…that it hurts to smile at the thought….._

After they were gone, Olivia lit into Cragen.

"You don't need me here. Why shouldn't I help Couch? He hasn't any experience with post-traumatic stress. He's never shot anyone—hell, he never even saw a corpse before coming here. You really expect him to help Judith?"

"Yes, I do."

Cragen sat hunched forward, right hand cradling the cast, every line and edge of his body sagging from pain and weariness. His gaze, however, bore into hers with a demand that she listen and obey. Olivia cut off her complaint and stood straight before him.

"They aren't victims needing your help," he told her, "they're partners. Couch will listen and Judith will talk. Together, they'll mend things between them."

The first sentence stung, but what he said after it made sense.

"You're right," she admitted. "I just don't feel like I did enough today."

Cragen smiled. "You showed up when I needed someone. That counts."

They turned back to the interrogation. Beale, who had been listening to their conversation, spoke up.

"Vodka, Don?"

Cragen glanced at Olivia before answering. "No, thanks—AA."

She bit her cheek to keep from grinning. On the other side of the one-way glass, Elliot stood next to Tucker as Wilkerson told them how about selecting her blackmail 'subjects'.

"What's Fin reacting to?" she asked John.

"I don't know. It's not only Fin; Tucker looks like he wants to puke."

Next to her, Cragen fought his own nausea.

"It has to do with the Delgado and Henry murders," he said. "They were staged as though Delgado shot Henry then himself after they made love. If every couple broke up within two months of being blackmailed, then there's no good reason for those two to be in bed together. Wilkerson just held up a sign saying 'We arranged their murders.'"

Olivia examined the perp. Wilkerson was addressing Fin, her hands folded primly on the table between them.

_She couldn't look more innocent...and she should never wear bright yellow…._

"What's she trying to prove?" she asked.

Cragen sighed. "If we knew that, I'd be home sitting in a more comfortable chair."

"Whatever she want to prove, Beale said, "she seems to have rationalized this as good for the victims."

"And for her and her accomplices," Munch added. "Three hundred thou split four ways—"

"There's no evidence she took a cent of it," Cragen told him. "We don't know where her share went."

Munch, Benson, and Beale exchanged disbelieving glances.

"Let's keep that fact under wraps," Beale said. "A jury will consider it proof of her insanity."

Sgt. Wilkerson: Captain Cragen and Detective Otten had us all fooled. My compliments to them both.

Det. Tutuola: They'll be thrilled.

" 'Thrilled' isn't what I'm feeling right now," Cragen said.

John muffled a snicker. "Consider it a compliment. You were very convincing."

The hall door opened and Howie Brewster stuck in his head.

"Cap?"

"I meant it," Cragen snapped. "Go away."

"Cap—you need to know this. Chief Sullivan is in the house, asking the whereabouts of some lieutenants, Munch, and you. Sgt. Neville is stalling him at the front desk."

"Thanks, Howie. Now, go away."

Beale checked his watch. "What's he doing here? Isn't his big meeting in less than half an hour?"

"Yeah," Cragen answered. "This can't be good."

He turned to Munch and Benson and told them, "You two better leave the station house now."

Neither detective moved.

"That's an order. Get going."

Munch shook his head. "Olivia and Couch should be okay if they stay out of sight. Same with Otten; good little soldier that she is, Sullivan will assume she went home after being suspended."

For an instant, John's face went blank and his lips twitched as though they hated what he planned to say.

"But Sullivan will tear the place apart looking for me. He'll find everyone—Liv, Couch, Otten, maybe even Hoffa and Elvis. You're better off if I make it easy for him."

Cragen sagged against the one-way glass.

"I don't have time to argue, John. If you want to play Ronald Colman, go ahead. Olivia, go warn Judith and Couch to stay away."

She drew in breath to argue.

"Please, Liv."

The simple request halted her words of protest.

"I'm gone," she said. "Don't worry. We'll keep everything covered for you."

She spun around to face Munch.

"You're doing this because you don't want to hide upstairs."

"Damn right," he told her. "I hurt all over. If Don didn't outrank me, I'd take that stool and make him stand."

Olivia placed her hand on his arm and patted it.

"Try not to get too jammed up."

She strode out of the room, changing to a sprint for the stairs as soon as she cleared the door. That left no one to deflect the force of Cragen's baleful gaze.

The captain fished his bottle of Ibuprofen from his pocket and handed it to John.

"Here—you might want these before turning yourself over to Sullivan's goons."

Munch indicated the interrogation with a jerk of his head.

"I'll buy you as much time as I can then I promise to follow every order to the letter. I'm not looking to get knocked around any more than I've already been."

He took two of the pain pills as Beale turned off the speaker.

"You act like this is the O.K. Corral at high noon," he said to Cragen. "You really think it is?"

Cragen stood up. Beale winced in sympathy as he stretched stiff muscles then slid his cast inside a suspenders strap to support its weight.

"If Tommy recommits to justice for Delgado and Henry," Cragen answered, "I'll go home happy. But he only wants to bring down deMichelis. I can't get behind that or what he did to Ed Tucker. I have to try and stop this."

"Okay, Don. I can respect that..."

Beale then looked up at Munch. "... but you're a complete fruitcake."

The hall door opened before John could wipe the shock from his face. He snapped his jaw shut just as Chief Sullivan, his aide, and four uniforms from the Fifth Precinct entered the room. Sullivan had changed into his uniform, its buttons glistening and his rows of citations neatly displayed. He closed the door behind him and swept the room with a haughty glare that brushed over Cragen.

_Not worth your attention any more? You just wait..._

Lt. Simms and two of the uniforms walked over to Munch.

"Detective John Munch?" Simms asked.

Munch stared down his nose at the lieutenant. Cragen heard him mutter something.

_Sounded like "Who let Barnfather spawn?"_

"I'll take that as a 'Yes,'" Simms said. "Did you participate in an altercation with Lieutenant Jonas Cutler late this afternoon."

"Yes, I did."

"Please describe this altercation."

John tipped his head as though his broken glasses were still there to be peered over.

"Lt. Cutler decided that his fist needed to be inside my skull. Since Lt. Cutler did not appear to understand any intellectual form of communication, I responded in kind."

"Did Lt. Cutler end up on the floor as a result of your 'response'?"

The non-purple side of John's face formed a proud smirk.

"He certainly did."

"Did you in any way provoke Lt. Cutler?"

"Lt. Cutler happened to overhear some instruction that I was giving another detective. I don't know why he took offense at what he heard."

Lt. Simms opened the portfolio. "Did your instruction include the following?"

He cleared his throat and read from the report before him.

"You need to be more direct, more pointed, more personal. For example: 'Look—it's Ol' Soft Serve, the man voted least likely to achieve wood in his freshman year three years running. During his last physical, the doctor rated him a minus-three on the Erection Assessment Scale—in other words, to get him inside her, Mrs. Cutler has to use a funnel. I heard that his only successful penetration of a woman was a female silhouette at the firing range and, even then, he shot blanks and missed.' "

Beale cut loose a long, hearty guffaw similar to the one Cragen was choking back. Sullivan and Simms ignored them while Munch raised an eyebrow and grinned at their appreciation.

"So you admit to having provoked Lt. Cutler's attack?"

The grin vanished. "I admit," John said, "to having used him in an example of the proper way to commit invective."

Sullivan stepped between his aide and Munch.

"Enough mincing your words. Cutler filed charges against you. Hand over your badge and hardware then turn around."

John compiled then he stood still while Simms fumbled with his cuffs.

"If you want to learn how to cuff a perp," he told Simms, "try working with real cops. We'll show you what you ought to know."

Simms gave the cuffs a hard downward yank. John winced and Cragen lunged at the aide.

"Don't you ever do that—"

Simms fended him off with one hand.

"You're in no position to threaten anyone, Captain."

_Don't dismiss me...it's not a threat...you have John roughed up, I'll take you apart myself and let Fin stomp on the leftovers…. _

A uniform took Munch by the arm.

"Gently," Sullivan warned him. "Show respect for the elderly."

Munch tensed and shot Sullivan a glare of pure hatred as the uniform turned him around and guided him to the door. He looked back over his shoulder at Cragen and Beale. Without the dark lenses to conceal them, they saw the anxiety in his eyes, the fear that he kept it from his voice for his parting comment.

"It is a far, far better thing that I do," he said, "than a fruitcake has ever done."

Sullivan pointed to where Stabler was perched on the table questioning Sgt. Wilkerson.

"One down. Tucker, Stabler, and Tutuola are next."

"They're busy, Tommy," Cragen told him. "You and me—we'll go take care of this…."

Sullivan ignored him. He caught Lt. Simms' attention and nodded. Before Simms could move, Beale stepped between him and the door.

"Don's right; they're busy. You can wait your turn."

"I have no intention of waiting. Mark, go get them."

Beale leaned a hand on the door jamb.

"Forget it, Sullivan. SVU detectives doing SVU business are the responsibility of the SVU Bureau Chief—that's me and my chain of command doesn't run through NYPD's hawse pipe. You want them, you can wait until I'm done with them or you can see if the D.A. feels like overriding my authority for you."

"This isn't SVU business."

"Hmm…adulterers being blackmailed, murder-suicide as the result of a lover's quarrel or two killings staged to look like it—sounds like sex crimes to me. Even if they aren't, I'm here and I'm not budging."

He turned his back to Sullivan, missing the flush of anger that reddened his face and neck.

"Yes, but Tucker's not SVU. Mark, go get him."

Beale had opened his mouth to refute Sullivan's next argument. The truth of the statement left him without comeback.

Cragen spoke up. "Yes, he is. You were there when Paul deMichelis told him to report to Detective Stabler for this operation. If he's reporting to an SVU detective, then he's in the SVU chain of command and that makes him Beale's."

Beale gave Cragen a quick smile and nod. Sullivan glared at both of them before waving Simms back to his side.

"Beale, you send those men to me the second this interrogation is over. Donnie, where are Benson, Sofarelli and Otten?"

"I don't know. They left a while ago."

Sullivan studied him carefully then said, "Mark, take the men and look around. If you don't find anyone, send them back to the Oh-Five and meet me in Donnie's office."

_And, if you do find anyone, they will leave in cuffs the way John did...that's the implied threat...you're hoping I'll fold if you take my people away..._

Cragen denied that hope with a shake of his head. Sullivan's studious stare shifted to a friendly grin. He clasped Cragen on the shoulder and gave him a push toward the door.

"You look like hell, Donnie. Why don't we head to your office and give you a chance to sit down, take it easy?"

_Wood shed time…._

"Sure thing, Tommy," Cragen replied. "We both have a lot to talk about."

He gritted his teeth and walked out of the Observation Room and into the squad room. Brewster, the shift detectives, and the staff all attended to their papers and computer screens, but Cragen felt the pressure of their curiosity as he walked among the desks.

Sullivan made a detour to the coffee pot.

"Donnie, you still take yours regular?"

_You don't give a damn about my coffee…you just want to look good in front of the troops...after you impress them, then it's me alone with you...your word against mine...maybe you'll come to your senses…yeah, and under the pile of crap, there's always a pony…._

He reached Elliot's desk, last one before his office, when quick footsteps sounded behind him and a hand grabbed his arm. He twisted to see Casey staring gape-mouthed as if she hadn't seen him twenty minutes before.

"Good God, Don—" Casey said. "Are you okay?"

Her hand slid down his arm to his hand. He felt a ball of something crumpled pressed against his palm.

_What the hell?_

"Judith's wire," she whispered. "We're taping."

He folded his fingers around it and shoved the wire between his cast and his shirt sleeve just as the chief approached with two mugs of coffee.

"We're fine, Ms. Novak," Sullivan said with a hearty smile. "Thanks for asking. Donnie...shall we?"

He used a mug to indicate the office door.

"It looks worse than it feels," Cragen told her.

_Like hell it does..._

"Thanks."

He held her gaze and repeated the last word silently and with genuine gratitude before letting Sullivan guide him into his office.


	15. Exculpation: Part One

13 June  
Captain Cragen's office  
8:47 p.m.

Once inside his office, Cragen headed for the chair behind his desk. Sullivan put a mug down on the file cabinet and laid his hand on the captain's shoulder.

"Donnie," the chief said, "rank has its privileges. " He pointed at a side chair on the far side of Cragen's desk; Judith's uneaten chicken sandwich sat in front of it.

Cragen shrugged Sullivan's hand away.

"This is my office," he said. "It will be my office until I am relieved of duty, die in the line of duty, or retire. You relieving me, Tommy? Because, if not, I'm sitting down in my chair. It's been a really rotten day and I am fed up to here..."

He raised his hand to nose-level.

"...with you and what you're doing."

Sullivan stared at him, a long searching examination that ended with a thoughtful frown.

"We've known each other a long time, Donnie. Can you grant me what's due me as a chief then spare me a few minute as a friend?"

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for your meeting with the commissioner?"

"There's a problem in Ballistics. The report on who shot which bullets won' t be completed until tomorrow morning. You look like hell, Donnie. Why don't you sit down? Have some coffee and we'll talk."

Sullivan took his own advice by settling into Cragen's chair, his coffee placed before him, the mug he brought for Cragen set across the desk. He picked up the wrapper containing Judith's sandwich and tossed it in the waste basket then he motioned for the captain to sit.

Cragen placed his right hand on the desk and leaned on it.

_He's trying to be dominant… I can block it by standing, but I'm not going last long and falling over won't look too powerful… damn… this isn't going to work….._

He eased himself into the side chair, careful not to bang his elbow on the arm of the chair and knock the wire from his sleeve. The relief of being supported by something other than his feet and legs, even if it was a government-issue wooden chair, filled him with weariness.

_Got to stay on guard… Tommy's working up to something… he didn't threaten my people just to be nice to me…._

Sullivan glanced around the office, taking in the crown molding, the institutional green paint, the clipboards filled with reports, the photos, plaques, and clutter accumulated over the course of Cragen' s career.

"It's not a bad office," he commented, "not as big as some, no windows, but real wood, not that fake stuff they use now... you know Ralph Janes?"

_Huh?_

"We've met couple of times, " Cragen answered. "Isn't he QA?"

"That's him. Ralph's in charge of the D.E. teams.

_Detectives Evaluation team... Quality Assurance Division sends them out to tell you what you're doing wrong and how to fix it... it's a useful program, but they've never been through here... we must not rate..._

Sullivan's gaze stayed locked above Cragen's head as though mesmerized by the pattern of the closed venetian blinds.

"Jane's office is twice this size and you can see Brooklyn from it. One of the perks of being an inspector."

_Yeah, rub it in... after seventeen years at captain, I know I'm going nowhere..._

"Ralph's retiring in September after thirty-five years on the job."

_C'mon, Tommy, stop yakking and yell at me… I'm going to sleep here..._

Sullivan's gaze dropped to bore straight into Cragen's eyes.

"They're looking for Ralph's replacement. Want the job?"

Cragen's jaw dropped.

_I'm awake now…._

While Cragen gaped at him, Sullivan continued to describe his offer.

"You'd do the minimum stint as a deputy inspector then that gold eagle is yours. No reason it can't become a gold star soon afterward. You've been in the hinterlands for too long, Donnie. Time we put you where your experience can help others."

He leaned forward, a friendly smile brightening his face.

"What do you say, Donnie? Sound good to you?"

_It's sounds damn near perfect… I've wanted—no, I've lusted after this for too damn long…._

He drew in a deep breath.

_All I have to do is muffle the_ _microphone with my hand and say "Yes"…._

"It sounds great, Tommy. How much of my soul do I give up to get it?"

Sullivan tipped his head and peered at him.

"Your soul, Donnie? Do I look like the Devil?"

"Right now, yeah—you do. You're offering me something I've chased for years, something you know I want desperately. So, I'm wondering—why are you offering it now?"

The chief leaned back, eyebrows raised and his smile wilting.

"I thought you'd jump at the chance."

"If today hadn't happened, you bet I'd jump. But you threatened my people; you went back on your promises about this operation."

…_and I still want so badly to say 'Yes'…._

Cragen swallowed hard. "You should know me better than that."

The fingers wrapped around Sullivan's mug tensed. Cragen watched his face for other tells and saw none. The office door opened and Sullivan turned toward it, his expression neutral until he recognized the newcomer.

"Mark," he said, "what did you find?"

Lt. Simms closed the door before answering.

"There's no sign of any of those detectives—no sign of their cars, either. I sent everyone back to the house."

Cragenleaned back slowly in his chair.

_That's one less threat you hold over me… now, what? You offered me the carrot... beating me with the stick should come next…._

Sullivan nodded. "So not all your detectives are insubordinate, Donnie. That's good to know."

Simms leaned against the door frame. He checked out the room then stared fixedly at Cragen.

_I've seen snakes with warmer eyes… he's protecting that door like I'm going to rush it… and I might try, except I hurt so much I'll need help to stand up…._

"I also checked on Beale," Simms reported. "He's still guarding Wilkerson's interrogation. He should know that pissing us off isn't in anyone's best interests, especially his own."

Sullivan pursed his lips. "Beale is nobody's fool," he said. "If both he and Donnie are lined up against us, then maybe we're in the wrong place."

Simms' eyes widened, a sign of shock that his boss ignored. Sullivan instead focused on Cragen for a moment then his head tipped forward, obscuring his face. His hands, still clasped about the coffee mug, tightened then he hunched over the mug as if in physical pain.

_Looks like you're praying, Tommy.. .when you hold all the cards, why do you need divine help?_

"Donnie," Sullivan said, his voice muffled by his lowered head, "maybe you're right."

_What the hell?_

A quick glance at Simms showed the same disbelief shaping his expression.

"I've done nothing today except try to hold things together," Sullivan said. "What should have been a simple operation has turned into a nightmare. You got hurt; two IAB associates are dead, another is in the hospital. I'm threatening good detectives, ignoring policy and procedures…."

He shook his head without raising it.

"I saw your reaction when Mark cuffed Detective Munch. I should have been as pissed as you were, but I was more concerned with covering my ass than anything Mark was doing."

Simms watched his boss warily while Cragen gently rested his cast on the desk then leaned closer.

"Are you saying that you're finally coming to your senses?" he asked.

Sullivan didn't move or answer.

_C'mon, Tommy… you playing me or what?_

"What I'm saying," the chief finally said, "is this wasn't supposed to go like this and—"

He broke off speaking and lifted his head to peer at his friend. His face was pale and taut.

"You're right about there being more here than justice for two slain officers driving this operation. There's politics…."

Sullivan eased himself upright and slumped forward, elbows bearing his weight on the desktop.

"Sometimes I think the P in NYPD stands for pissant politics. You can't get anywhere unless you know what to salute, what to kiss, and who to screw. Paul deMichelis never had the knack. He felt that he should have been promoted to Chief of Department, not me. Instead of biding his time, he did his damnedest to block every one of my changes. I've lost valuable time satisfying his demands and soothing his hurt feeling.

"When Chief Conrad brought the murders of Delgado and Henry to my attention, I saw my chance. If IAB agents were blackmailers and murderers, then deMichelis was dead meat. I'd be a fool to pass up such an opportunity. The rest is just as we told you—Conrad and I brought our suspicions to deMichelis. Paul was worried that he'd get the shaft, but I assured him that his cooperation in a sting operation would guarantee his survival."

Cragen frowned at his friend.

"Yeah, yeah—I know," Sullivan said, "but if he's dumb enough to believe that promise, then he deserves what he gets. You know the way of it—you're responsible for the men and women under your command. If they go crooked; it falls on you. Paul didn't even attempt to accept responsibility; he just looked for an out and was happy when I gave him one."

Sullivan paused to sip his coffee. Cragen used the time to mull over what he had heard.

_Makes sense… Tommy can dance with the best of them and everything I've heard about deMichelis says he has two left feet…._

"So," he asked, "what happened to your best-laid plans?"

Sullivan swallowed his coffee and sighed.

"Damned if I know, Donnie. Both Tucker and Stabler thought that today would be a breeze. The rats would explain the extortion to you and Otten; you would accept their demands and that would be that."

"But," Sullivan continued, "that wasn't that. Instead, I'm called to the investigation of a cop-on-cop shooting resulting from Operation Chestnut. That warehouse is filled with the shooting team, the Borough Chief, IAB, the ME, CSU, all doing their jobs. The only thing on my mind is the Commissioner discovering I was gunning for Paul harder than I was stopping corruption in the ranks.

He leaned forward and stared straight into Cragen's eyes.

"I swear to you, Donnie. If there had been any indication that things would get rough today, you'd have had full tactical—ESU, uniforms, paramedics—you've run enough of these operations; you know the drill. But the indications weren't there and… well, I'm just thankful it wasn't worse."

Cragen leaned back from the chief's intensity.

_But it was worse... two dead… one seriously injured… Judith and Ed shot one of our own…._

He glanced at his cast and tried not to think John walking off with his Ibuprofen.

_I'm gonna make a mistake here... too tired, too sore... Tommy's words sound good, but he could be farcing me... try something neutral... draw him out... get him to say it for the wire... don't think about how he's working with all his faculties and I'm not..._

"So?" Cragen asked. "What comes next?"

Sullivan's gaze went distant as he shook his head.

"I guess I ask a big favor, Donnie. I know how hard you can be to budge, but I don't know another way out this."

Cragen glanced at Simms, whose mouth hung open from shock at his superior's words. The aide noticed Cragen's gaze and snapped his jaw shut.

_You've blown Simms away…. maybe you've not be kidding…._

"Donnie," Sullivan said, his voice low and rough. "I know it's too much to ask, but I need your help to wrap this up without doing any more damage to the force. Let me wind up the investigation my way and I promise to put it back on track. We've got Wilkerson and Eristoff on blackmail and extortion. Paul deMichelis will resign quietly if we keep Delgado's and Henry's killings off the table; once he's gone, I promise to clear their records and hold memorial services for them with full honors."

Sullivan leaned forward again, his eyes bright with a sickly smile, a combination Cragen usually saw on the faces of strung-out junkies hoping for a break.

"I'll keep my other promises, too. Everything will be cleared up between you, Otten, and your people. I'll void the suspensions—no records of anything in anyone's jacket. I'll even personally apologize to Detective Munch in front of your entire team; it's the least I can do for his mistreatment."

_Tommy all humble… John will eat that up… it all sounds good… except…._

"What about Ed Tucker?"

Sullivan did not hesitate. "Same for him. No suspension, nothing in his jacket, full explanation about the operation to his team."

"You really think that will stop the death threats?"

The wan smile vanished. For a full second, Sullivan sat still, his face a blank, then he said, "Death threats? Tucker got death threats?"

"Yeah. Seems some of the rats think Ed was in on Wilkerson's scheme and either hate him for that or for killing one of their own."

Sullivan looked to his aide, who stared wide-eyed at the chief.

"Nothing like that from me, sir," Simms said. "You told me to keep this tight and I have."

The chief let out a quick breath.

"Jesus, Donnie—you telling me his own people threatened Tucker, that somehow a rumor got out about Wilkerson and it twisted that much?"

Cragen squirmed in his chair.

_Damn… wish I could find a comfortable position… everything is killing me…._

"I heard some of his phone messages. One promised that his wife would get a notification visit from his C.O."

Sullivan rested his chin in his cupped hand.

"Jesus," he repeated. "That's almost impossible to believe. I didn't know, Donnie, but…."

He held his hands open before him.

"…I'll take responsibility for that, too. It comes from the same decisions and actions and—what can I say? Those actions and decisions are mine."

Cragen cradled his cast in his right hand as he settled back in the chair, wincing as his muscles and joints protested even that small a move. He then examined his friend, checking his expression, his breathing, the way his fingers interlaced as he folded his hands before him.

_He sure seems sincere… I can't see any miscues… he's been straight with me before this… he hasn't always helped me, but he never jerked me around before…._

"What about offering me Janes' assignment?" he asked. "You responsible for trying to bribe me, too?"

Sullivan's mouth twisted as though the words he said earlier now tasted like crap.

"More damn politics, Donnie. I reached for the first tool in the tool box. I should have been straight-up with you from the get-go. I'm sorry for how I handled that, Donnie. You deserve better from me."

At his words, Cragen allowed himself a long sigh of relief.

_That sounds good…. really good…._


	16. Exculpation: Part Two

13 June  
Sixteenth Precinct  
Hallway outside Special Victims Unit

Elliot left the Observation Room and strode down the hall, nodding to the people he knew. Those not associated with SVU greeted him in return. Officer Taylor and Detective Lynde, Howie's partner, both walked by him without so much as a glance in his direction.

_Cap said he told everyone to ignore us... it's obviously working... _

He paused before rounding the corner to the squad's door to review the plan.

_By now, Fin and Tucker should be with everyone else... had to stop Fin from going after John... last thing we need is the two of them in a holding cell... both Fin and Tucker wanted a piece of Sullivan, so Beale ordered them to stay far away from him…._

He raised his eyebrows and chuckled at that one.

_So look who's going in alone... me, the one with 'anger management issues'… maybe I should have called Olivia before doing this… but Cap's in there by himself and that can't be good, either…._

He pushed open the door and crossed the squad room to Cragen's office. No one seemed to take notice of him, but he spotted several people eyeing him from behind monitors and manila folders.

The office door opened only a crack at his knock. Lt. Simms stood before the opening to block Elliot's view of inside. Stabler gave him his best insincere smile then held it just long enough to show it was phony.

"Chief Sullivan wanted me to report here," he told Simms.

Sullivan's voice came over Simms' shoulder.

"Let him in, Mark."

Simms stepped aside. The instant Elliot cleared the doorway, the aide closed it again.

_Okay, we have one chief's aide, who looks both scared and pissed... Cap, who looks beat to hell and is eyeing Sullivan like he just grew antlers... and the Chief of Department, who looks like he swallowed a gulp of Munch's worst coffee… dumbass took the best chair for himself…._

Elliot stood at attention, positioning himself to face Cragen slightly more than Sullivan.

"Chief Sullivan, Captain," he said then he waited for someone to react.

Sullivan pointed to a chair on Cragen's left.

"Have a seat, Detective," he said. "Where are Sgt. Tucker and Detective Tutuola?"

Elliot took his time sitting down in the hope that Cragen would clue him into what was happening. The captain said nothing, but his head shook twice, so slightly that it could have been a nervous tremor.

_Warning me or letting me know I just blew things for him? Too late if the second one… now, to answer respectfully and as close to the truth as I can… Beale warned me against getting hauled off like John…. _

"Sir," he answered Sullivan, "Bureau Chief Beale relayed your order then told us we still were under his authority. He sent the three of us home, but I figured I was in enough trouble already. You said you wanted me here so I'm here."

Sullivan's eyes narrowed as he peered at him.

_He's thinking hard… maybe I threw him the curve… he didn't ask about Wilkerson... doesn't give a rat's ass about her or the murders..._

Cragen cleared his throat.

"Elliot," he said, "The chief told me how today was the result of an operation gone completely out of his control. He asked if I'd help him put things right."

_So what? You've got Duty Chief Verbeck and the shooting team leader behind you… just tell Sullivan where to go and we'll get out of here…._

"How, sir?" Elliot asked.

Sullivan sat upright, a move that drew all three men's attention to him.

"I asked your captain to let me handle this without interference," the chief said. "I promised that Wilkerson and Eristoff will get what they deserve with no departmental cover-up. There will be no disciplinary action for you, Tutuola, Otten, Munch, or Tucker and I will take full responsibility for everything—quietly, of course. We don't need the media getting wind of this."

"Right," Cragen said. "No sense in harming the department any more than this already has."

Elliot's stomach lurched. He kept his eyes front and his face still while Cragen's words ran through his thoughts.

_Cap just agreed with Sullivan…._

He twisted in his chair to stare at Cragen. The man appeared to have shrunk inside his wrinkled shirt and loosened tie. He sat hunched over his broken wrist and watched Sullivan from dark eyes sunken into skin pale from pain and worry.

Sullivan, in contrast, was alert, his uniform crisp and creased, to all appearances a man ready to keep every one of his promises. The contrast in their attitudes was obvious: Sullivan was the leader, Cragen the willing follower.

_Maybe Cap's leading Sullivan on, trying to get him to incriminate himself… but then it's our word against the chief's… hardly an even match…._

"Cap," Elliot said, his voice low and urgent, "you're not buying this load of crap—are you?"

"Detective, all I'm asking is a chance to make amends and then start fresh afterwards," Sullivan answered. "Even humps get that much."

Cragen nodded. The quiet acceptance of Sullivan's request shook Stabler. His fingers tightened into fists and he fought to keep from shaking them at his C.O.

_We backed you, Cap… we're risking our jobs and pensions because we believe in you… don't shaft us just 'cause he's an old friend… .no matter how sincere he sounds…._

"Chief Sullivan," Cragen continued, "is making a reasonable request—."

_The hell he is…._

Elliot leapt from his chair. Simms jumped over to stop him; Elliot glared at him and he quickly backed away.

_If Cap's not going to say it… I will…._

"Chief," he said, spitting the title in Sullivan's face. "After what you did, you don't deserve a fresh start—and you can forget the 'with all due respect' crap. Assholes don't deserve respect."

"Stabler!"

Cragen put his right hand on the arm of his chair and braced his feet. He levered himself upright, swaying until he steadied himself with a hand on the desk.

"Sit down and shut up," he told Elliot, straining his words through clenched teeth.

Elliot sat, his motion not in response to a command, but a collapse from the sudden shock of betrayal.

_Son of a bitch… Cap drank the Kool-aid… we're all screwed..._

"It's not your place," Cragen continued, "to tell the Chief of Department off."

He then turned to face the chief, who glared at Stabler, his hands pressed against the desk ready to launch himself at the detective.

"Sorry, Tommy. It's not his place—it's mine."

Cragen raised his head and stared down at the man sitting in his own chair. Anger flushed his cheeks and brightened his dark eyes.

"You said it yourself—all you want is deMichelis gone. You leaned on him hard and made promises you never planned to keep. You twisted things to make Ed Tucker look like another rat gone bad. I can see you ticking off the names: 'Wilkerson, Eristoff, Lau, Stanton, Tucker—where there's five crooked rats, there's probably fifty-five. Good thing I got rid of deMichelis when I did. Who knows what would have happened next.'"

Sullivan leaned back in his chair, putting distance between him and the finger Cragen now pointed at him.

"Infighting and back-stabbing are SOP for the Puzzle Palace, but you, Tommy—you hit a new low. You not only made Tucker look dirty, you put him in danger from his own people."

Cragen leaned closer to Sullivan, his cast held close to his chest, his face even with the chief's steely glare.

"Is that why you sent John Munch to the Oh-Five? If I don't roll over and play doormat for you, does a 'mix-up' in holding allow some skel to beat the crap out of him?"

Sullivan's mouth twitched into a sneer as his face reddened. By the door, Simms stared at his boss and licked his lips with a nervous rhythm.

"What you promised me tonight is the exactly the same thing you promised at our first meeting," Cragen told him. "Nothing's changed except the body count. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

Elliot drew in a long breath.

_ I must have thrown Cap off-stride when I came in… he had to regroup… way to go, Cap… you tell him…._

Cragen pushed himself back so he could glower down at Sullivan.

"It's been fun watching Detective Otten be shunned by her partner, the one she has to trust with her life. It's been fun watching Stabler here and Detective Tutuola lie to their partners. It's been fun leading this unit with the memory of Otten's breast in my hand and a big scarlet letter pinned on my chest. It's going to real fun putting everything back together again—repairing the damage and living down the gossip..."

Cragen waved his free hand sideways as though shoving all the listed problems away.

"...but that's okay. I can get past that. What I can't get past is what you've done to this operation, my unit, IAB—hell, everyone involved. You ought to go down hard for this and I'm doing everything in my power to make sure that happens."

Elliot watched the two men, the chief low in his chair, red-faced and tight-lipped, the perfect image of a cornered perp while Cragen stood over him, hand again braced on his own desk, shaking in righteous fury at the actions of his friend.

_Totally reversed from a couple minutes ago… remind me never to doubt you again, Cap…._

Elliot sat back in his chair, enjoying the sight of Chief Sullivan beaten at his own game, then he glanced over at Lt. Simms. The aide still leaned against the door, but he no longer had any nervous tics. Instead, his eyebrows were raised as he gazed at his boss with an air of expectation.

_That sounded and looked like we won... what did I miss?_

Sullivan and Cragen remained in position for a moment longer then Sullivan's upper lip twitched into a sneer. He slowly sat upright and leaned forward, drawing his face closer to Cragen's. When they were a foot apart, Sullivan paused to place his hands on the desk then he stood up, angling his body so that he forced the captain back to his side of the desk—a show of dominance that brought a grin to his aide's face.

_Oh, yeah... I missed the fact that the chief outranks us... but we still have the Duty Chief and the shooting team leader... we're not dead yet..._

Elliot watched his captain give ground rather than be forced off-balance. The furrows above Cragen's eyes deepened as he waited for the chief's next move.

"That's some threat, Donnie," Sullivan said. "Let's see what you have to back it up. You have you, Captain Donald Cragen, who's been passed over for promotion so many times that your name never gets considered any more. Why is that? Because you helped Adam Schiff and Ben Stone bring down Chief of Operations Peter J. O'Farrell and no one wearing the blue will ever forget it."

He raised his right arm in a sweeping gesture to indicate Elliot.

"You have Detective Stabler, NYPD's anger management poster child, a man with so many discipline write-ups that he's one punch away from a psych discharge. Stabler's one of your collection of sob sisters, cowboys, and decrepit old farts—basket cases no other unit wants. That's what you're threatening me with—huh, Donnie?"

Cragen swallowed hard, but said nothing. Elliot gripped the arm of his chair, forcing himself to stay put and not prove the chief right.

"Or do you have more?" the chief asked. "Some secret weapon, a tactical nuke that will make me soil my skivvies and wave the white flag? What could you possibly pull out of your pocket that would scare me?"

Sullivan reached over and placed his hand on Cragen's shoulder, a friendly-looking gesture that brushed the welt on his jaw and made the captain wince.

"By any chance," the chief asked, "are her initials 'S.V.'?"

Sullivan then pitched his voice to match Cragen's Irish tenor.

" 'Bronx Duty Chief Sally Verbeck will now tell Commissioner Richardson how Chief Sullivan subverted justice and suborned the investigation. Her testimony will prove that he is a scumwad. Can I get promoted now?'"

Cragen yanked away from the chief's grasp and stumbled against the chair behind him. Elliot leapt up to steady him with a hand at his elbow and shoulder.

"While I was getting my report together," Sullivan said in his normal baritone, "I had a nice long conversation with Sally. I learned that she doesn't want to end up like you—always on the outside looking in. So, I trumped your offer and she accepted."

Cragen's gaze bore into the chief with the hatred of someone twice betrayed, once by the duty chief, then by his friend's mocking. He held the glare for a second then the hate drained from his face and he let out a long, shuddering sigh and sagged against Elliot's shoulder.

A smug smile spread across Sullivan's face.

"It was a valiant effort, Donnie. Shame you aren't better at infighting and back-stabbing—of course, we already know that from the O'Farrell mess."

Cragen reached behind him for his chair and lowered himself into it. He rested his left arm on the desk, cast parallel to his chest, then he dropped his right hand to his lap and slumped forward. Elliot also sat down with a hand held out in case his captain needed assistance but Cragen ignored his concern.

Elliot turned to Sullivan. The chief grinned back at him.

_Shit... we're both right in his crosshairs… Saunders said he'd speak up only if someone else did... without him, we got squat…. _

Sullivan pulled his chair close to the desk and folded his hands before him.

"Donnie, insubordination and failure to obey a direct order isn't something we can chuckle about over a beer and a club soda. I have to address this in a swift and firm manner."

Sullivan paused, waiting for a reaction from Cragen. The captain said nothing. Elliot watched him stare vacantly at the chief.

_What the hell's wrong, Cap? You hypnotized by his gold stars? Say something… do something… if not, I will…._

Sullivan pointed at the detective.

"Sorry, Detective, but you're history. No pension, no benefits, no nothing."

His stomach knotted and he fought the need to curl up around the shock that chilled his innards.

"Wait a minute. Don't I get a hearing?"

"Of course. You'll get a hearing, a D.E.A. rep, and ample proof that you disobeyed direct orders, disregarded a suspension notice, and conspired to undermine the authority of a senior officer. It won't matter who judges you. All they'll see is a nut case who should have been removed long before now."

Elliot gathered himself for a lunge across the desk….

_A fist to his face… smash that grin right through the back of his head…._

…but a swift jerk of Cragen's head brought him up short. The stern glare that accompanied the motion confused Elliot.

_I know that glare… it's the same as an order to sit tight and wait…. but we're out of options… out of ammo…._

"It's good advice, Detective. Don't add assault and attempt to commit murder to your list of infractions. It's long enough already."

Elliot looked at the chief's confident smirk then at his captain, who remained slumped over in his chair, his breath rough and heavy, the only color left in his face the purple welt on his jaw from Lau's blow.

_I'm screwed… we're all screwed… off the force… permanently… how I'm going to support my family after this?_

Motion below the level of the desk caught his attention. Captain Cragen, the very image of a man who had just lost everything, was giving him an emphatic 'thumb's up' sign with his right hand under the lip of the desktop.

_We're winning? You gotta be shitting me, Cap… you can't still have something up your sleeve… you're nuts… only explanation… you've completely freaked…._

Elliot sucked in a deep breath. He drew himself erect and faced Sullivan with his head held high.

_I'm not going down hunched over like a scared rabbit…._

"Detective Tutuola," Sullivan continued, "will get demoted and stuck in Traffic Control. That should teach him not to follow the lead of a raving nutjob. Sergeant Tucker—well, I'll leave him to the tender mercies of his fellow rats. Next up is Detective Munch. As much as I like your idea about a mix-up in holding, his dismissal for assaulting a superior is easier to arrange."

Captain Cragen listened as Sullivan ran through the list of punishments, his only motion his breathing. Elliot's gaze bore into the chief.

"This is a joke," he said. "You can't do this to all of us. There are regulations, procedures—"

"All of which will be followed scrupulously," the chief told him. "You and Cragen are the ones that flout the rules, not me. Which, by the way, brings me to Detective Otten. I understand the shooting team's preliminary findings have her as responsible for Lau's death. Since your orders to her were 'Locate but not engage', we can find Lau's shooting to be unjustified and force her to retire. It's a shame, really. Otten wasn't insubordinate, just unlucky enough to part of your team."

Sullivan looked thoughtful for a moment then he chuckled.

"If I'd known you were a breast man, Donnie, I'd have assigned Benson to this operation, not Otten. That way, you could have copped a feel from a truly magnificent rack."

Elliot drew in breath to protest on his partner's behalf. Sullivan spoke first.

"Can the complaint, Stabler. You've stared at them daily for seven years—you know what I'm talking about."

The chief leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head.

"Donnie, I'll throw you a bone. You take a reduction in rank and resign immediately. A lieutenant's pension is better than no pension at all, right?"

Cragen nodded, his head drooping lower with each nod. His surrender sickened Elliot.

_Never thought I'd see you beat down, Cap… figured you'd go out with some backbone showing…._

"I don't know why this one set you off, Donnie," Sullivan said. "There's nothing here worth your career. Like I said—"

A sharp rap on the door interrupted him. Sullivan jerked his head towards the door and Simms opened it a crack.

"Chief Sullivan is busy," he said, "You'll have to—Commissioner Richardson."

Simms looked over his shoulder at the chief, his shock showing in his wide eyes and tight grip on the door.

"Sir?" he said then he mouthed "What do I do?"

Next to Elliot, Cragen slowly sat upright. Under the bruise his jaw tightened although his expression stayed blank. Sullivan sat stock-still for a moment. He frowned at Cragen and Stabler then he sucked in a deep breath and drew the corners of his mouth up into a grin.

"Don't keep the Commissioner waiting, Mark. Let him in."

Simms stepped aside and let Commissioner Richardson and Chief Conrad into the office. Conrad was still in uniform while Richardson wore a navy suit and Egyptian cotton shirt with open collar; the end of a maroon tie showed from his left jacket pocket. His face bore a tight politician's smile, an expression matched by the Chief of Detectives, who placed his cap on the file cabinet and stepped in front of Simms.

Chief Sullivan left his chair and walked around the desk, his hand extended to greet the commissioner. Cragen also stood, his cast cradled in his right hand and his expression drawn and tired. Elliot followed their lead. The commissioner's gaze flicked over them before resting on Chief Sullivan.

Being ignored by the police commissioner sent a chill through Elliot.

_Looks like everyone has written us off… Sullivan's all poise and charm for the commissioner… five seconds ago he was ending our careers… what's the word for it playing everything for his own advantage? Machiavellian? _

"Tim," the chief said, "I didn't expect to see you until tomorrow. Has something come up?"

Richardson took Sullivan's outstretched hand and shook it.

"Yes, a number of things. I'm hearing—"

"Commissioner," Cragen interrupted, "before you say another word…."

Richardson glanced in his direction and said, "Sit down, Captain. You look terrible."

Cragen remained standing. He swallowed hard twice then, as everyone watched, he reach into the sleeve loosely covering his cast and pulled out the microphone.

"Sir, you need to know that everything is being recorded."

Stabler stared at the battery pack in his captain's hand and the thin wire dangling from it and felt the knot in his stomach loosen.

_Damn… Cap did know what he was doing…._

Sullivan's eyes bugged out at the sight. Simms shrank against the file cabinet. Conrad frowned and glared at Cragen while Richardson reached out to take the wire from the captain.

"Interesting," he said. "Did you take it on yourself to bug Chief Sullivan?"

"No, sir. I got the wire from Casey Novak."

Richardson tipped his head back and stared at Cragen.

"A wire from an A.D.A. _Déjà vu_, Captain?"

Cragen said nothing, but his face and shoulders sagged as he let his arm drop back down to support his cast.

The commissioner held the wire before his face and spoke into the mic.

"Ms Novak, please bring the tape recording to me immediately."

He then handed the wire to Conrad, who pocketed it while Richardson turned back to Cragen.

"Why is the D.A. interested in a conversation between you and Chief Sullivan?"

Cragen licked his lips before answering. Sullivan grinned at his nervousness, but narrowed eyes negated the cheerfulness of his smile. Behind Richardson and Conrad, his aide stared at the chief as though beseeching him for permission to get the hell out of there.

"There is reason to believe," Cragen said in a low voice, "that Chief Sullivan was subverting an investigation in order to force Chief deMichelis out as head of IAB."

"Would that be Operation Chestnut or the shooting investigation resulting from it?"

Cragen sighed. "Both, sir. Chief Sullivan tried to prevent our questioning of Sergeant Wilkerson, going so far as to suspend Detectives Stabler and Tutuola when they asked to interrogate her. He also told Lieutenant Saunders that he wanted Sergeant Tucker blamed for shooting Detective Lau even though the preliminary report shows Detective Otten to be responsible."

Richardson raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't Stabler and Tutuola interrogate Agent Wilkerson?"

Cragen nodded. "Yes, under orders from Chief Conrad."

Elliot expected to see Richardson look to Conrad for confirmation. Instead, the commissioner turned to him.

"Detective Stabler, what was the result of Wilkerson's interrogation?"

Elliot took a step forward just as the office door opened. SVU Bureau Chief Beale allowed Casey to enter before him. Casey was carrying an evidence bag that held a cassette tape. Richardson and Conrad turned to greet the newcomers.

Stabler's attention was caught by the intensity of Sullivan's glare at him. He ignored Beale to watch the chief mouth "Talk like Cragen and you're dead." Elliot blew out a breath, unsure whether to laugh or tremble.

_Takes 'nads to threaten me with all this brass around... Cap looks worried so we're not clear yet... but I've had my fill of being yanked around..._

He faced Sullivan and mouthed the words "Fuck you."

Sullivan went livid behind his fake smile and Elliot grinned.

_Damn, that felt good..._

He turned back to where Beale was handing the evidence bag to the commissioner.

"There you are, Tim. One very interesting secret recording."

Richardson held the bag up. Through the plastic, Elliot could see that the tape was marked and date-stamped in Olivia's neat script.

"Andrew," the commissioner asked, "does Branch know about this?"

Beale nodded. "And approves of it. He said that there's something not right about this and we need to uncover it before the hogs root it up."

Richardson's laugh was a rolling snort from deep inside his throat.

"That sounds like Arthur. Captain, do you have a few more hours in you this evening?"

Cragen swayed slightly as he said, "If you need it, sir."

"Good. Why don't you sit down?"

Cragen sank into his chair while the commissioner picked up the receiver of the desk phone and dialed a number.

"Perry, do you have the team ready? Then send them to Manhattan SVU. I'll have a situation room arranged by the time they get here."

He hung up. Sullivan eyed the door to the hall then glared at Cragen.

_He's probably wishing Cap followed fire regs and kept access to it clear so he could bolt from behind the desk..._

"Andrew, are the other detectives involved available for questioning this evening?"

Beale nodded. "Except for Detective Munch. Sullivan had him carted off to the Fifth Precinct."

Richardson turned to Conrad and said, "Get him back here. I'm going to listen to this tape, then get to the bottom of this—before morning, if possible. Captain, if you don't mind moving, I'll have all of you wait in the nearest interview room until Inspector Perry arrives—and do you have a tape player I can use?"

The next four hours were, as far as Elliot was concerned, a repeat of the afternoon—too many questions, too much waiting, and not a clue how it was going. Inspector Perry, once he and his team arrived, handed Elliot over to a tall black woman in a sergeant's uniform who never introduced herself and who spoke only to tell Stabler where he needed to go next. Each of his teammates also had minders; he spotted Ed Tucker being escorted to the men's room by a uniformed lieutenant who looked distressingly like Greg Lau.

_I don't think Lau had a brother... that's all we need... a twin seeking revenge..._

One difference between the current and earlier questionings was that reps were present for every interview. Elliot's was Steve Wiley, who worked Auto Theft out of Queens. The two of them met in Robbery's interview room, which had been commandeered by Perry's team.

"Wiley," Elliot asked, "what's the score here?"

Wiley shrugged.

"It's big, Stabler. Richardson wants it cleared up ASAP. They don't call him 'Quick Dick' for nothing."

"How many heads are going to roll?"

"Don't know yet. You're not in the clear and I know you're tired so watch how you answer."

Stabler settled back in his chair and swigged yet another mug of coffee.

_Great..._

Between his third and fourth interview, his minder left Elliot at the crib for some shut-eye. He found Munch snoring on the furthest bunk from the door and Fin on the next bunk shaking his head at the noise.

"John sounds like a hive of bees being sucked down a drain."

"The real reason for all his divorces," Elliot said. "Did they take him to Central Booking?"

Fin shook his head. "They put him in a separate cell and left him there. Maybe they figured things weren't kosher."

"Maybe John kept his mouth shut and behaved."

Fin snorted. "I'd like video of that."

He swung his feet onto the bunk and stretched out on his back.

"Got any idea how this is gonna shake out?" he asked.

Elliot leaned against a bunk frame. "Good. It's going to turn out good."

"Shit, Stabler. You want me to believe that?"

"Yes, I do." Elliot sat down and began to unlace his shoes. "The commissioner had gathered his investigation team before he got here. The only thing that surprised him was Cap's being wired. Somehow, someone told him something."

Disbelief raised Fin's lip into a sneer. "Too much 'some,' Elliot. Figure it out and let me know when I wake up."

Fin snagged a pillow from a neighboring bunk, wrapped it around his ears and curled up on his side. Elliot made himself comfortable in his own bunk and fell asleep wondering how many minutes until his minder woke him again.

_The answer to that question… forty-six minutes… two-twenty-five a.m.…._

Fin was still asleep, but John's bunk was empty. Elliot's minder led him to the men's room then to Interview One, where the commissioner and Wiley waited for him. Richardson had shed his jacket and was stifling a yawn when Elliot entered the room. Wiley slid a mug of fresh coffee to Stabler, which he accepted it with a nod and a yawn.

At Richardson's request, Elliot explained the entire operation from the first meeting at his church to the session with Sullivan in Cragen's office that the commissioner interrupted. Richardson's questions were informed, concise, and thorough, but gave no indication of what he planned to do with the information.

Afterward, the commissioner thanked Stabler for his cooperation then warned him not to discuss the matter with anyone and sent him home.

Elliot stayed in his chair. "Sir, am I suspended?"

Richardson shook his head. "Not as of now. Call it a paid day-off. I won't leave you hanging long."


	17. Exculpation: Part Three

14 June  
Sixteenth Precinct  
Manhattan SVU  
8:05 a.m.

Olivia Benson sat at her desk and sipped her coffee. Across the room, Couch stood before Cragen's closed office door.

"Is he in there?" he asked.

She shook her head.

_According to Chloe, everyone had cleared out by 5 a.m.…._

Couch glanced around at the four unoccupied desks.

"So it's you and me against the world?"

She nodded.

_Sure hope it's only for one day…._

"Think they'll be in today?"

She shrugged.

_I tried to reach Elliot…no answer…I had to leave a message…._

Couch walked over and stood, hands in pockets, by her desk.

"If I get you more coffee, will you talk to me?"

She shook her head then smiled to show she was kidding him.

"Sorry, Couch. I didn't get much sleep and I'm not feeling friendly this morning."

"Me neither. All I did last night was worry. What we heard Sullivan say to Elliot and the captain sounded damning, but he looked so sure of himself afterward. I couldn't get a good read on Chief Conrad when he talked to me."

"Yeah, me either," she agreed. "I don't feel good about any of this."

Olivia picked a folder at random from her desk and grabbed the receiver of her desk phone. Couch took the hint and returned to his own desk.

_I hate doing this to him, but I am not in the mood to chat...don't know how Elliot managed to survive entire shifts in a radio car with him..._

The morning crawled by. Olivia made a substantial dent in her paperwork while calling everyone she knew with an 'in' at One Police Plaza. The only thing she learned was that Commissioner Richardson had worked the night through and was due back in his office at 1 p.m.

_...and that our motor pool has Cragen's and Judith's cars back from the Bronx...I should retire now if that's all I can uncover...can't even get Elliot to call back... either he's been ordered to not return calls or he turned his phone off to sleep..._

Her next call was to Casey.

"Sorry, Liv. I can't tell you anything; that order came straight from Branch."

"Do you know anything?"

"No, but even if I did know something, I couldn't tell you."

"How about rumors, gossip--hey, I'd settle for unsubstantiated allegations."

Casey chuckled. "Fresh out. Wish I could help."

Couch spent his morning roaming the precinct house to collect gossip from anyone willing to talk to him. During lunch in the upstairs lounge, Olivia picked at her salad and Couch demolished a double burger with mayo while he shared what he had learned.

"Sgt. Valeri heard from the desk sergeant at the Oh-Five that our unit is corrupt and filled with senile idiots; I gather John did not impress anyone there. Lt. Anders, my CO at Robbery, says that Sullivan's aide was arrested this morning and the chief is going to switch places with Chief Bacchi at Patrol Services. Chloe's sister's roommate works in Personnel Records; according to her, Chief Conrad has the files of all detectives willing to transfer to a Special Victims unit."

He took a deep breath.

"Fred Keller in the motor pool heard from the guy who drove Judith's car from the Bronx that Cragen's driver has been reassigned to the Six-Five. I ran into Ted Grainger in the locker room; he said his brother over at the Two-Seven heard from one of the homicide detectives there that our captain spent the morning filling out his retirement papers."

Olivia stopped chewing.

_God…I hope not…._

"And Lt. Crenshaw down the hall swears that Elliot quit…"

Olivia dropped her fork.

"…to become an Elvis impersonator."

She snatched up the fork again and threatened Couch with its tines.

"Not funny—not funny at all."

"You're right. Sorry, but the tension is getting to me."

"Yeah, me too."

She glanced down at her cell phone and wondered if maybe, this time, Elliot might answer.

"How about," Couch asked, "we both try again?"

Neither call reached a partner. Olivia hung up without leaving another message.

At 1:47, she got the call she had been waiting for.

"Olivia."

"Elliot—I've been trying to reach you."

"Yeah, I noticed. I was asleep. Look, I'll be there in a little while."

_He still sounds tired…monotone…extreme stress flattens the range of voice tones and emotions…I guess last night didn't go well at all…._

She moved the phone to the ear furthest from Couch and whispered, "Can you tell me anything?"

"Let me get a shower and some coffee and I'll talk to you when I get there—okay?"

She stared at the phone after he had hung up.

_That doesn't sound good at all…._

"Olivia," Couch called from his desk. "I just heard from Judith. She and Fin are on their way in."

_Great…now he's a poet…._

"So is Elliot", she replied. "Judith say anything?"

"This is Judith. I'm fine—and you? Fin's giving me a ride to the house. We should be there by quarter to three. 'Bye."

She glared at him then spun her chair and began to curse under her breath, missing Couch's grin and mute shrug of apology.

A few minutes after two o'clock, she glanced up from a case folder and spotted the captain in the hallway talking to Lt. Crenshaw.

_He's in a suit…that means he's prepared to work, not retire…damn, he looks awful...tired, worn, and—I hate this—old..._

She went to the coffeepot and filled his mug with hot coffee, sugar, and milk. She then kept an eye on the door and, when he came through it, she held the mug out to him.

"I guess it's morning for you, sir."

Cragen leaned against her desk, his cast resting on his thigh. Close up, she could see that he had not shaved the purple welt along his jaw.

_Must hurt a lot if he skipped it…for someone born looking rumpled, he's very careful about his appearance…._

"Thanks, Olivia," he said, taking the mug from her with a smile. "You've made the day a bit brighter."

She smiled back at him. "Always glad to help."

He took a sip then said, "If you're looking for news, I can't tell you a thing."

"I've been hearing that all day. Elliot, Fin, and Judith should be here soon."

Cragen nodded. "John, too. The commissioner is having a press conference at three o'clock—we'll watch it in Interview One—then he's coming here at four."

"For what?" she asked.

Cragen blew out a long breath.

"I'm trying not to think about it."

He slid off her desk and headed for his office, closing the door behind him.

"He looks," Couch said from his desk, "like he knows he'll be packing his things."

"They can't do that to him," she retorted, but the sudden queasiness that hit her stomach said otherwise.

_They not only can…they probably will…shit…._

Just after two-thirty, a TV on an AV stand was brought into Interview One and tuned to the Weather Channel. Olivia was staring through the window at the European meteorological map when she heard Fin's voice.

"Our replacements aren't here yet. That's a good sign."

Olivia spun around in her chair to see Fin in three-piece charcoal suit and tie already at his desk and Judith, her suit a deep maroon with a cream silk blouse, sliding into her chair. Couch hovered over his partner, peppering her with questions, so Olivia swung her chair to face Fin.

"You expecting to be replaced?" she asked.

His scowl answered her question.

"What happened after Couch and I left?"

"I got questioned by Inspector Perry, Captain Jameson from the Six-Five, Chief Conrad, Deputy Inspector Geduld from the Disciplinary Assessment Unit, and Richardson himself. Got some rack time around one-thirty—saw Elliot and John there. Other than that, nothing but talking to a lot of brass."

"Anything else?" she prompted.

"John said, when he got back here, he saw Sullivan getting into an official limo—no minders, no cuffs—just him and his driver. Doesn't look good for us."

Olivia turned to get Judith's take on events, but Couch still had her attention.

"I was talking to my Uncle Bob," Judith said to her partner. "I've told you that he was on the job; he's also a grief counselor at his synagogue. There wasn't much I could tell him, but he listened and that helped."

"Have you talked to your parents?"

Judith's bitter laugh surprised both Couch and Olivia.

"They're in Switzerland; my mother's showing at Art Basel. I'd have to shoot several world leaders before getting precedence over that."

"So, how do you think this will shake out?" he asked. "You think you'll be okay?"

Judith closed her eyes and sighed.

"I wish I knew. It's obvious that heads will roll."

"Whose heads?"

That question came from Elliot. He walked past his partner, pausing to grin at her in greeting, then he went to stand by Couch's desk.

"We need to start a pool," he announced to his team. "Take bets on who goes and who stays."

Fin snorted at the idea. "That's cold, Elliot," he said.

"It beats sitting around worrying," Elliot responded. "Got a better idea?"

Couch's already dubious expression became even more anxious when Judith reached for her coin purse.

"I'm in," she said. "I've bet on weirder things. I'll take Sullivan, Captain Cragen, Detective Munch, and you."

Elliot raised an eyebrow and stared down at her. "Why me and not Fin?"

"Fin has better commendations and is a snazzier dresser."

Elliot gave his clothes, a serviceable dark brown suit, light brown shirt, gold striped tie, and his favorite brogans, a puzzled look. Olivia hid a smile.

_Elliot considers himself well-dressed when his socks match…._

"Ain't hard to look better than Elliot," Fin said. "Just dress to please the ladies and you're there. Give me Tucker, Simms, Sullivan, and John."

As Fin pulled out four ones, Olivia asked, "You're betting against your own partner?"

"Always said John's mouth would get him in trouble. What about you?"

Olivia eyed each detective.

_I must not be jaded enough…I can't joke about you guys getting canned…._

"I'll pick Sullivan and Tucker. How about you, Elliot?"

He already had three ones in his hand. "Sullivan, Simms, Tucker."

Ed Tucker's voice came from the hallway door. "I'm detecting a trend. Can I get in this pot?"

The IAB agent wore a powder blue NYPD polo shirt and navy slacks. His badge was clipped to his belt; scuffed leather showed where his holster should have been. Tucker walked over to Judith's desk, nodding his greetings to Fin and Elliot as he passed them.

"Ed, it's a buck a head," Elliot told him. "Who do you think will get the axe?"

"Hate to say it, but Captain Cragen, you, and me."

"Why you and not Judith?" Couch asked.

"Because I've already gotten the axe."

Olivia jerked around to gape at him. Around her, every face bore the same shocked expression.

_Never liked him as a rat, but Elliot and Fin now respect him…takes a lot to get respect from them…._

"What happened?" she asked.

"I was insufficiently supportive of my superiors and my fellow agents," he said, "meaning I should have covered for Chief deMichelis and not helped interrogate Diane. I've been told to find a unit and transfer immediately."

"That's crazy," said Fin. "Who's gonna take in a rat?"

Tucker nodded. "Exactly."

"Exactly what?"

This question came from Munch, who had come in the back entrance. Other than a slightly more pronounced limp and the bruise that covered half his face, he looked as though this were a normal day for him.

"Ed has to give up his cheese," Fin told him. "He's supposed to transfer out of IAB immediately."

Munch stopped to grab a tea bag and a mug of hot water.

"Yeah, right," he said. "Tucker, your only hope is an opening here—something extremely likely given our recent activities. Anyone taking bets on who goes and who stays?"

They all pointed at Elliot, who waved the stack of ones already collected. John placed his mug to his desk then handed Elliot three more bills.

"I want Sullivan, Simms, and Lt. Cutler. While I was enjoying the lovely holding facilities at the Oh-Five, I devised an appropriate fate for them. They should be staked out naked on a garbage scow filled with used hypodermic needles—like the Greek god Prometheus, but with communicable diseases and sea gulls."

Fin eyed his partner warily.

"Being jailed addled what little brain you have left."

John drew back, ready to respond, but the opening of Cragen's office door silenced his retort. The captain stepped out and surveyed the scene. He spotted the stack of ones in Elliot's hand and gave each of them a personal disapproving glare.

"I don't ever want to know," he told them. "Got it?"

Elliot had opened his mouth to explain. He snapped it shut and answered "Got it, sir."

"Good. Let's go watch the commissioner spin this thing."

They filed into the interview room. Cragen walked around the table and took the chair closest to the television, Munch the chair facing the observation window. Couch ushered Judith to the remaining chair near the door. He perched on the table beside her and twisted to face the TV. Elliot and Tucker claimed spots at the observation window and Fin leaned against the table between John and Cragen. Chloe and the uniforms assigned to the squad filled in the empty wall space.

Olivia leaned against the wooden sill by her partner. This close, she could see the tautness in his jaw and the fidgeting that kept him from balling his hands into fists. The same tension filled her teammates although it affected each of them differently: Fin held stock-still, his eyes fixed on the television screen like a hawk watching a mouse...

_...except he's the mouse..._

...while John twitched and bounced in his chair, his fingers drumming the table, his feet tapping the worn linoleum.

_Usually, Fin would be telling him to 'set your bony ass down and stop moving', but not now...he knows they have the same fear, but opposite reactions..._

Captain Cragen sat upright, feet flat on the floor, his cast resting on his left leg, his right hand placed on it as though to protect it.

_He's the closest to the TV... a wall protecting us from what's going to happen... that's his normal hang-dog expression, but his eyes hold no hope...in his mind, he's already gone..._

Couch's attention kept shifting from the TV screen to his partner. His hand jerked up as though to pat her shoulder, but he lowered it without completing the comforting touch. Judith took no notice. She sat back straight, hands folded in her lap, only tightness at the corners of her eyes to show the stress she felt.

_I'm not sure I'd try patting Judith's shoulder to comfort her anymore than I'd try it on Elliot right now…probably make him jump through the window, he's wound so tight…._

Tucker crossed his arms and leaned. Like Fin, he did not fidget or move.

_He's already gotten his bad news…either he's here for moral support or his unit doesn't want him around…can't believe that I don't mind his being here…._

Cragen hit a button on the remote and the TV scene switched to John Corant, a talking head with an expensive tousled hairstyle, superimposed on a photo of the exterior of One Police Plaza.

"…is believed," Corant was saying, "that the commissioner will address the shooting of Detective Gregory J. Lau and the suicide of Officer William Sta—here is Commissioner Richardson. We now go live to One Police Plaza and Commissioner Richardson."

The TV screen switched to a group of people, some in uniform, some in suits, sorting out their precedence behind a podium bristling with microphones.

Olivia recognized the scene as the standard NYPD media conference setup: a podium flanked by flags and a dark blue drape with the NYPD shield emblem providing a telegenic backdrop.

The camera zoomed in on Richardson, his suit a funereal black with blood-red tie. He held a three-by-five card, proof of his distaste for Teleprompters.

"Good afternoon," he said, gaze flicking around as he made eye contact with the reporters. "Allow me to start by introducing the people with me. On my right, First Deputy Commissioner Anthony Balzano, Chief Paul deMichelis, the head of Internal Affairs, and Special Victims Unit Bureau Chief Andrew Beale…."

"What's Beale doing there?" Couch asked.

"Let's hope he's gloating," Munch answered.

"On my left," Richardson continued as the camera panned across the podium and down the line of people, "Deputy Commissioner of Legal Matters Edward Wilson, Captain Joella Gibson of the Legal Bureau, Chief of Detectives George Conrad, and Chief of Department Thomas J. Sullivan."

"Son of a bitch!"

Next to Olivia, Elliot drove his fist backward against the wall. Vibrations ran through the glass at her back, but no one reacted to the blow. They all were staring at Sullivan, who stood not five feet away from the commissioner, his glare focused on the assembled reporters.

"No…."

This time, Couch patted his partner shoulder as she shook her head to deny the sight. John froze, as still as Fin, his long fingers pressed flat on the table top, the pallor of his face deepening the creases in his cheeks.

"Shit," he said, "we're doomed."

Captain Cragen looked to his left to see Fin, John, and Couch, then right to see Elliot, Olivia, and Judith. Olivia caught his gaze and he turned away and swallowed hard.

_He feels guilty…but we followed his lead because it was the right thing to do, not because he ordered us to…Elliot and Fin bucked Sullivan long before he had a chance to fight him…this isn't his fault…._

"Last month," the commissioner said, "it became apparent that members of the NYPD's Internal Affairs Bureau were systematically blackmailing fellow officers. Agents would uncover evidence of on-the-job affairs and, rather than process this evidence through official IAB channels, they used it instead to extort money from more than thirty patrol officers, detectives, and commanders.

"Due to the sensitive nature of this situation and because IAB personnel themselves were under suspicion, Chiefs deMichelis and Sullivan set up a joint operation utilizing non-IAB personnel. Operation Chestnut, as this was named, provided proof that an extortion ring existed. IAB agents Diane Wilkerson and Charles Eristoff devised the plan and ran the ring with the assistance of IAB field associates William Stanton of the Twenty-seventh Precinct and Gregory Lau of the Eighteenth Precinct's Robbery Apprehension Module.

"During the course of the operation, one of the undercover operatives was discovered to be wearing a wire. This prompted the suspects to flee in an attempt to escape capture. During this attempt, Detective Eristoff was seriously injured and Detective Lau was shot and killed after he fired on two of the undercover officers. That same afternoon, Officer Stanton was found at his precinct house, dead of a gunshot wound to his head from his own service weapon. We are in the process of determining if his death is related to the discovery of the extortion ring."

"He hasn't mentioned any of us," Judith noted.

Couch asked, "Is that good?"

"Yes it is," Munch told him. "He's mentioning dead people; we're not dead—yet."

"Sergeant Wilkerson," the commissioner continued, "was apprehended at the scene and questioned. In addition to the extortion, she admitted to ordering the murders of Officers Joseph P. Degaldo and Karen Henry of the Seventy-eighth Precinct. Officers Delgado and Henry had been found dead in what had been labeled a murder/suicide. We now know that they were victims of Wilkerson's extortion ring and had threatened to bring it to the attention of the Brooklyn borough chief. To prevent this, Detective Lau lured the two officers to the location where their bodies were found. There were then executed by Lau and Eristoff and their bodies arranged to suggest a lovers' suicide pact."

Commissioner Richardson paused.

"My sincerest condolences to the families of Joseph Delgado and Karen Henry. I deeply regret not only their deaths, but also the slur to their reputations caused by our failure to correctly determine their exact cause of death. Memorial services with full honors for both officers will be arranged as soon as possible."

"Good," Cragen said. "At least that gets done."

The commissioner turned his head to both sides, checking the people around him. The camera focused out to show the somber faces of all eight people then it moved back to Richardson at the podium.

"Every cop-on-cop shooting is investigated, even the ones that appear straightforward. During yesterday's investigation into the shooting of Detective Lau, allegations of other acts of misconduct came to light. These allegations included failure to obey a direct order, undermining the authority of a superior, coercion of personnel under his command, the use of his command to damage the reputation of the NYPD, and obstruction of an ongoing investigation.

"I have spent the last twenty-three hours examining this matter to determine the level of culpability of those involved. "As a result of my findings—"

Everyone stopped breathing.

"I have asked for and received the resignation of Thomas J. Sullivan from the position of Chief of Department for the NYPD."

_What the hell—?_

The commissioner stepped back from the podium. Sullivan eyed the microphones angrily and then stumbled as if pushed. He turned and took the two steps that put him in position to speak into the microphones while Chief Conrad put his hand back at his side. There, Sullivan held his head high and read from the Teleprompters in a monotone voice.

"I have been given the opportunity to say how sorry I am for my actions and for the results of my actions. The accusations that have been leveled against me are not all true, but enough of them are true that I have been appropriately removed from my assignment as Chief of Department. I regret the damage that I have caused to the reputation of the New York Police Department, my fellow officers, the people under my command, and those whose careers I threatened to end and those whose service records I promised to tarnish."

"That should render him unemployable," Fin

"Yeah," Munch agreed, "not even Homeland Security will want him now."

As Sullivan left the stage accompanied by Gibson and Beale, Richardson thanked the reporters and ended the press conference. As soon as the screen went black, Elliot stood to face his captain.

"Okay, Cap," Elliot demanded, "where does that leave us?"

Cragen glanced at his watch.

"Waiting twenty-five minutes to find out our own levels of culpability."


	18. Exculpation: Part Four

A/N: According to the layout of the SVU main set, the PIMS room is outside the door under the stairs. For the purposes of my stories, this is now Interview Room Two. In the real world, no investigation would move this fast and involve so few people (and no lawyers) nor would it produce the same outcome that this one. For the purposes of this story, I have streamlined and simplified the process.

14 June  
Hallway outside the SVU squad room  
3:40 p.m.

_Twenty-four hours ago, I was watching the shooting team bag Judith's and Tucker's weapons for testing…my only worry was how to present my report clearly and concisely … I had no idea I was going to lose my job…. _

Elliot left the squad room as soon as Cragen clicked the TV off. It was one thing to joke about their being fired when there was hope it might not happen.

_The commissioner never mentioned us… but he did say 'failure to obey a direct order, undermining the authority of a superior, coercion of personnel under his command, the use of his command to damage the reputation of the NYPD, and obstruction of an ongoing investigation….'_

Hearing the list of allegations from Richardson's mouth, knowing those charges pertained to him and his teammates, had destroyed that hope.

_They're good cops… good people who work hard to do it right… I asked Fin to call Tucker so we could question Wilkerson… I decided to defy Sullivan… everything that happened came straight from those two decisions… it's my fault, but 'Gee, guys—I'm sorry' doesn't cover the loss of our jobs and pensions…._

His fingers curled into his palms and the muscles in his arms contracted. He swung around, searching for…

…_something to punch, something to destroy... something that proves Sullivan was right… that I'm really am one punch away from a psych discharge…._

Slowly he relaxed his hands and straightened out his fingers.

…_only person who deserves a fist to the kisser is Sullivan and he's gone…._

At the end of the hall, he saw Olivia beckoning to him.

_Guess it's our turn to go now…._

14 June  
Manhattan SVU Squad Room  
4:00 p.m.

The shift meeting began on-time, but that was the only normal aspect of it. In place of Captain Cragen, Stabler, and Brewster running through the open cases, Commissioner Richardson stood before the assembled shifts. The commissioner was flanked by Chief Conrad and First Deputy Commissioner Anthony Balzano, a lean dark-haired man in an Milan-styled suit. Captain Cragen stood by the door to his office; Stabler and Brewster listened from their desks.

Richardson stood with one elbow propped on a file cabinet, his back to Cragen's office. He surveyed the detectives, uniforms, and staff clustered around the desks in the center, not too far from the action, but not too close to the head honcho who would announce the fates of some of their colleagues.

_Tommy Sullivan was right when he promised explain everything to Cragen's people... rumors have to be countered or they will destroy a unit... but I hate what comes after... putting good people through hell because the rules and regs require it… because cop culture requires it... an organization that savages its own people forces them to become savages..._

His gaze swept the room, making eye contact with random people, skipping over those whom he would soon judge, before he started to speak.

"If you watched today's press conference, then you know that Chief Sullivan began Operation Chestnut to investigate an extortion ring targeting NYPD personnel. That operation consisted of people from this unit—Detective Stabler ran the operation with Detective Tutuola and Sergeant Tucker of IAB while Captain Cragen and Detective Otten were the undercover operatives. The two of them pretended to being intimately involved so as to attract the notice of those running the extortion ring. I want to assure you that their intimacy was a ruse solely for the purpose of Operation Chestnut. Any rumors you may have heard about an affair between them are not true."

He stressed the last three words then paused for any audience reaction; some people raised eyebrows. Others directed their attention to Cragen or Otten and a few muffled snickers.

_The young ones laugh… they think sex was invented by them…._

"The need for secrecy," Richardson continued, "in this operation forced those working it to lie to their partners and colleagues about their participation. Last night, I learned the lengths to which each of them went to keep Operation Chestnut a secret. I assure all of you that those subterfuges and lies were a necessary part of the operation. Any stories told or assertions made by or about Captain Cragen, Sgt. Tucker, and Detectives Stabler, Tutuola, and Otten that seemed out-of-character for them also are untrue."

A quick movement to his right caught his attention. Otten had ducked her head behind one hand.

_I didn't know women blushed any more... must be that cover story she told about the failed one-night stand with her captain..._

A quick look over his left shoulder at Cragen's erect stance and carefully blank expression confirmed the commissioner's suspicion.

_Wish I'd been here for that story... hell, I wish I'd heard Munch tell off Lt. Cutler... proves what my dad used to say—'the cowboys go to Narcotics, the comedians to Homicide...'_

He covered his thoughts by clearing his throat.

"You have heard about the resignation of Chief of Department Sullivan and you know about the allegations made regarding misconduct committed by him, his aide, Sgt. Tucker, and members of this unit. These are extremely serious charges, which is why I personally led the investigation into them. Rest assured that resolution of this matter will affect this unit as little as is humanly possible. Are there any questions?"

No one spoke up.

_I know they have questions… but I'm not going to hear them... the second I leave this room, that's when they'll start pouring forth..._

"In that case—Captain, if you will take over, we'll set up in the interview room."

He surveyed the squad room again, this time checking those suspected of misconduct. Otten sat with her gaze fixed on him but her expression blank.

_Apprehensive..._

Munch sat at a desk to her right, his gaze flicking from the front of the room to his partner and back, his fingers playing with the tag of a tea bag steeping in a mug on his desk.

_Uneasy..._

Tutuola stared back at him through narrowed eyelids with his arms crossed on his vest.

_Wary..._

Stabler had twisted in his chair to face his partner, but his gaze kept moving from her to the commissioner and the stiffness in his posture told of tension unreleased.

_Uptight..._

Captain Cragen stepped forward and began to describe the day's open cases. His voice cracked slightly on his first words and he swallowed hard before continuing.

_Anxious... and I don't blame any of them for feeling that way..._

14 June  
Interview Room #2

Interview Two was perfect for firing people. It had been the PIMS Room, where detectives could access the mugs shots filed in the computerized photo-imaging system. When that function was made available to the networked computers on each detective's desk, Cragen and Lt. Crenshaw had the room converted into an interview/interrogation room shared by Robbery and SVU. Its doors opened onto two separate hallways, so an accused detective could enter one door, learn about being fired, then be sent away without contact with those still waiting to learn their fates.

_My grandchildren will love spending more time with me… but I'm not ready to be a full-time grandma yet…_.

Judith stood before the Commissioner, Deputy Commissioner Balzano, and Chief Conrad; they sat behind an ancient wooden table placed under the window. A stack of folders, the top one open, lay in front of Richardson. Conrad had a large brown leather briefcase before him. All three men wore black suits.

_I didn't know I had to wear black to this function... at least I match Chief Conrad's tie..._

"Detective Otten," the commissioner said, "although you did not actively participate in the misconduct alleged to have been committed by members of Operation Chestnut, you did not act to prevent it nor did you report it to a superior. Have you anything to say for yourself?"

_I can blame orders from Elliot as leader of the operation or Captain Cragen as my CO… I can say that grief from shooting Lau clouded my judgement or that I was unaware because the misconduct began while I was being questioned by the Bronx D.A…. any of these excuses are reasonable and very close to the truth…._

"No, sir."

Commissioner Richardson turned to Chief Conrad and nodded. The Chief opened his briefcase and removed her service weapon.

"Detective Otten, your shooting of Detective Gregory Lau has been ruled to be justified. A letter stating this will be added to your jacket. It also has been determined that all charges of misconduct against you with regards to Operation Chestnut and the actions stemming from it are non-sustained. A letter stating so will be placed in your jacket. You are cleared to return to duty. Do you have any questions?"

"No, sir."

Chief Conrad held out her weapon, which she took from him, enjoying its welcome weight in her hand before she holstered it.

_I wore my holster out of habit... dressing without it felt wrong... it feels right now..._

Chief Conrad said, "At your soonest possible convenience, make an appointment with a departmental psychologist or Dr. Huang, the forensic psychiatrist with your unit. I've been there and that is the best way to handle it. Don't try to cope on your own."

"I won't, sir. Thank you, sirs."

For a moment, Judith considered pirouetting out the door like her granddaughter, up on her toes with arms raised to the ceiling. The next moment, she remembered that cops who appear psychotic tend to get fired.

_I just avoided that outcome… as happy as I am, I won't risk it…._

She joined Tucker in the interview room's tiny observation area. He stood before the window staring up at the sky outside. His holster, now complete with weapon, was clipped to his belt.

"You cleared?" he asked her.

"Yes. I see you are, too."

Tucker shrugged. "All equipped and nowhere to go."

"Do you have any ideas?"

"There's some shift commanders who rotated through IAB and know me—John Beckman, Jan Feld, Kevin Morton, Al Rogello; maybe one of them will make a place for me. Hell—if I have to, I'll dust off my uniform and head back to Traffic."

"Is that the Kevin Morton at Brooklyn South?"

"Yeah. He's a lieutenant now."

"Yes, in Homicide."

Judith walked to where he was standing.

"Look," she said, "I'm not one of Morton's favorite people but, if he'll take you on, I'll ask the guys to skip the cheese jokes and give you a chance. Would that help?"

Tucker kept his attention on the building across the street.

"You have juice there?"

"Only sixteen years' worth."

He twisted just far enough to see her from the corner of his eye, then turned away again. His head tipped back slightly and his lips tightened against each other.

_He's thinking… deciding if Morton will take him on… I should poke him and shout, 'Go for it!'… we weren't fired… we're still cops… of course it will work…._

Without taking his gaze from the view outside, Tucker said, "I think I'll head back to Hudson Street and give Morton a call. Thanks, Judith."

She grinned as she responded, "I'm happy to still be able to help."

Back in Interview Two, John Munch was trying not to think about how vulnerable he was.

_Thirty-four years on the job... I've been a cop longer than Chief Conrad has been out of diapers... thirty-four years... but only ten of them with the NYPD … Richardson, Conrad, Balzano—they aren't my bunkies… we never responded to an "Unknown trouble" call together... we never drank together after a long shift... I'm alone on the floor, surrounded by big kids with playground balls and perfect aim…._

Richardson cleared his throat then asked, "Detective Munch?"

_Stan used to say my name that way: 'Dee-tec-tive… Munch'… as though the two words refused to fit together…._

"How is your face?"

John touched the bruise that ran from his eye to upper lip.

"Tender, sir."

Conrad frowned. "I've seen Cutler work the bag," he said. "You're lucky you still have teeth."

_For that matter, so is Cutler…._

"Granted," Richardson continued, "you should not have taunted him…"

Conrad's lips twitched. Balzano put his hand to his face to hide his smirk. Munch started to grin with them.

_Don't be an idiot... they want to fire you... don't prove again that you're a smartass..._

"…but Cutler should not have struck you…"

_Because I'm too old to mix it up?_

"...and you should not have struck him."

_Couch said it was 'a thing of beauty'… I impressed a third-degree black belt..._

"Is there something to smile about, Detective?"

Munch compressed his proud smile into a frown.

"No, sir—nothing at all."

"Good. In addition to striking Lt. Cutler, you are alleged to have participated in the misconduct stemming from Operation Chestnut and to have failed to prevent said misconduct and to have failed to report said misconduct to a superior. Have you anything to say for yourself?"

_I could have reported them to Don; he's my superior... better not say that, either... like it or not, the only right thing to do is to stand here and take it... at least I outlasted Otten..._

"No, sir."

Richardson sighed then he selected a sheet of paper from the folder before him.

"In that case, Detective Munch, the allegation that you deliberately provoked a superior officer with derogatory and sexually demeaning and with the express intent of inciting a fight with said superior officer is sustained. Since Lieutenant Cutler also was acting against departmental regulations and since you both have chosen not to file charges, you are hereby reprimanded for your behavior and a letter to that effect will be placed in your jacket."

_That might be a problem, if I still had a job here..._

Richardson set that paper aside to pick up another one.

"It has been determined that any and all charges of misconduct against you with regards to Operation Chestnut and actions stemming from it are non-sustained. A letter stating so will be placed in your jacket. You are cleared to return to duty.

_Non-Sustained… they can't prove I did it nor can they disprove it… I might have undermined Sullivan's authority… and maybe I didn't… I might have obstructed an ongoing investigation… and maybe not… that should drive my biographers nuts…._

Richardson raised his voice a bit.

"You are cleared to return to duty, Detective."

Munch tipped his head down and blinked at them.

_Cleared? I'm still a detective?_

"You're not canned," Conrad clarified the commissioner's words. "But we are canning your insult comedy career—got it?"

"Yes, sir," Munch said, "I got it. Thank you."

He turned and left quickly in case someone decided his jacket needed less mystery and more pink slips.

Inside the small observation area, he found Otten staring out the window. She turned when she heard the door open.

_So that's what an "Oh, shit" expression looks like on her face…._

"Yes," he said, "I'm still here."

"Yes, you are," she replied. "What happened?"

"I got a reprimand for inciting a fight with a superior officer. Of course, calling Cutler 'superior' warps the meaning of that word."

He pulled a chair out from the table and sat with his legs outstretched.

_Good thing I landed on my side last night and not my ass… at least I can sit… Otten, you can stop staring at me…._

Just to see what would happen, he said his last thought aloud.

"Okay."

She turned back to the window. The set of her head, the way she folded her arms across her chest, the arch in her spine all told his experienced eye that she was extremely angry.

_Maybe she was canned and stuck around to see if I got the axe, too…._

"How about you?" he asked, forcing his voice to sound sincere.

"Lau's shooting was justified, 'Non-Sustained' on the rest. I am no longer on suspension."

Each word was precise, crisp, razor sharp in its elocution.

_She's pissed as hell… maybe she wanted to be sent home to do nothing but bake muffins all day…._

"Being cleared upsets you?"

She spun around and glared at him.

"I learned last night that Couch, Olivia, and you knew that the captain's and my affair was faked. I understand why the three of you pretended to be shocked and angered by it and I appreciate your covering for us."

She took two steps toward him and balled her fists.

"What I don't understand is why you called me those names in the hall after lunch, when there was no one around."

Munch stood his ground before her anger.

_Because you think I'm insecure, a loser, not bright…_

"There was no reason," she continued, "for you to say those things to me."

_Sure there was... you're trying to make me past tense..._

"I saw reason," he said. "Want to make something of it?"

Back in Interview Two, Richardson was reciting the allegations against Detective Odafin Tutuola.

"…disobeyed direct orders from Chief of Department Sullivan. You assisted Detective Stabler's enlistment of Detective Munch to prevent Lieutenants Cutler and Sloane from carrying out their orders. This assistance obstructed the Chief of Department's investigations, both Operation Chestnut and the investigation into the shooting of Detective Lau. It was your duty to prevent misconduct and/or to report said misconduct to a superior, not to aid and abet it."

Richardson paused for a breath before asking, "Have you anything to say for yourself?"

Fin stood before them at attention and watched all three from under hooded eyelids.

_We did report it to a superior… Elliot laid the whole thing out in front of Chief Conrad… he countermanded our suspensions… don't matter now, does it? You're gonna do whatever makes the Department look good—not what's right…._

He stared at each of them in turn.

_Commissioner… your daddy was a cop, but you went Fed… you didn't walk a beat on the streets here… Deputy Commissioner… you were my first commander right out of the Academy… you haven't looked me in the eye since I got here… I thought Chief Conrad was stand-up, but he knows what went down with us and Sullivan and he's not saying nothing… I'm trying real hard not to think of this as three white men judging me… we're all supposed to be blue… 'cept you are blue-white and I'm blue-black…._

"No, sir. I got nothing to say."

"Very well."

The commissioner picked up the topmost paper on the stack.

"Detective Tutuola, the allegation that you obstructed an ongoing investigation has been determined to be unfounded. A letter stating so will be placed in your jacket."

He placed the paper aside and picked up the next one.

"The allegation that you undermined the authority of a superior has been determined to be non-sustained. A letter stating so will be placed in your jacket."

Richardson placed that paper aside and picked up the next one.

"You are exonerated from the allegation that you did not report the misconduct of Chief of Department Sullivan to a superior because you did bring the misconduct to the attention of Chief Conrad. A letter stating so will be placed in your jacket."

He then took up the last paper in the folder.

"As to the allegation that you disobeyed a direct order, that allegation has been sustained. Sufficient evidence exists to indicate that you deliberately disregarded an direct and reasonable order from the Chief of Department and that said disregard constituted a violation of a departmental rule, regulation, policy, or procedure. A penalty of five vacation days will be imposed and a letter stating so will be placed in your jacket."

Richardson closed the folder before him. Fin struggled to keep his expression impassive, to show no signs of his shock.

_They don't want my badge… my head ain't gonna roll… but what the hell—five vacation days? _

"Detective, do you have any questions?"

"Yes, sir. What order did I disobey?"

Richardson pursed his lips and looked straight back at him.

"Chief Sullivan ordered you to join him in Captain Cragen's office when you finished Wilkerson's interrogation, an order that was relayed to you by SVU Bureau Chief Andrew Beale. You did not comply."

_That puny-ass order costs me five vacation days? I didn't think twice about that one… but I spent all today fretting over being suspended by Sullivan and not going home… damn the rules and regs… you just need to tag me with something…._

"Thank you, sir."

"You're cleared to return to duty."

"Thank you, sir."

Fin turned away so quickly that he missed the sour regret in the three men's expressions.

In the observation area, he found his partner sprawled on a wooden chair, his eyes shut, the only occupant of the room.

"Hey," he said. "You okay?"

"Couldn't be better," John replied.

"Where's Judith and Tucker?"

"Not here. Otten left abruptly after I asked her a question and I don't know where Tucker is."

"Was Judith cleared?"

"Yes. So was I—thank you for inquiring. You?"

"Lost five vacation days for disobeying an order."

Munch pulled his legs in and sat up.

"All I got was a reprimand for hitting Cutler."

The two partners stared at each other. Fin's grimace deepened along with John's puzzled frown.

"We're getting off easy."

"Yeah."

John pursed his lips while he considered the matter.

"You and I—we didn't instigate anything; we just followed Elliot and Cragen's leads. Richardson and his buddies must be gunning for them. They know if they suspend or fire all of us, it guts the unit."

"And, if they dump it all on them," Fin added, "it tells every cop out there 'Don't buck the brass.'"

"Precisely.

Munch stood up and took a step for the door.

"At the risk of seeming cowardly, I do not want to be stuck in a small room with Elliot right after he loses his badge."

Back in Interview Two, Elliot Stabler stood at attention before Richardson, Balzano, and Conrad as Richardson read the allegations against him.

'_Failure to obey a direct order, undermining the authority of a superior, coercion of personnel under his command, the use of his command to damage the reputation of the NYPD, and obstruction of an ongoing investigation'… from the department's point of view, that's exactly what I did…._

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

_I could say that Sullivan's an officious prick… that I'd do it all again… that they can take their blue wall and piss up it… but they know that…._

He drew in a deep breath.

_I don't have anything to say for myself… but there is something I have to say…._

"Sirs," Elliot said, "what happened yesterday was my responsibility. My decision to act against Chief Sullivan forced Captain Cragen, Sgt. Tucker, and Detectives Tutuola and Munch to also act against the chief."

Deputy Commissioner Balzano leaned forward.

"Did Captain Cragen ask you to say this?"

"No, sir—he did not."

"Are you saying this so your friends will get lesser punishments?"

"No, sir."

Chief Conrad fixed a cold stare on him.

"Are you so charismatic that your fellow detectives and your CO do whatever you want whenever you want them to?

_What the hell? That's not what I meant…._

"No, sir. What I meant was I resented the way Chief Sullivan was ignoring the murders of Delgado and Henry. Sullivan wanted to use the murders as leverage to force Chief deMichelis to leave. I wanted Wilkerson and her gang to confess to everything—not just extortion. I involved Detective Tutuola and he involved Detective Munch and—"

…_and Olivia and Couch, who aren't in trouble… don't mention them…._

"—and hearing that Sullivan suspended Fin and me caused Captain Cragen to act against the chief."

"So," Richardson asked, "you want us to place all the blame on you?"

Elliot remained at attention.

"No, sir—I don't want that at all, but it is true that if I had gone home when ordered to, none of this would have happened."

Richardson's left eyebrow arched.

"That's very noble of you, Detective, " he said, "but don't throw yourself on your sword just yet."

_Damn… I tried…._

Richardson read from the topmost sheet in Elliot's folder.

"The allegations that you obstructed an ongoing investigation and that you the used your command of the personnel involved in Operation Chestnut to damage the reputation of the NYPD have been determined to be unfounded. You may have obstructed Sullivan's plans, but you kept your operation on-track and achieved the operation's objectives. A letter stating this will be placed in your jacket."

Richardson set that sheet down and picked up another.

"The allegation that you coerced personnel under your command is also unfounded. Despite your high opinion of yourself, Detective, your team acted on their own—not because you Svengalied them into opposing Sullivan."

_That's not what I was trying to say…._

Stabler left that thought unsaid as Richardson took up the next sheet in the folder.

"The allegation that you undermined the authority of a superior has been sustained, but you are exonerated of this charge. A letter stating that this finding will be placed in your jacket."

Exonerated? 

"As to the allegation that you disobeyed a direct order, that allegation has been Sustained."

_Shit… now here it comes…._

"Sufficient evidence exists to indicate that you deliberately disregarded an direct and reasonable order from the Chief of Department and that said disregard constituted a violation of a departmental rule, regulation, policy or procedure. A penalty of five vacation days will be imposed and a letter stating so will be placed in your jacket."

Richardson closed the folder before him. Discipline learned at Paris Island kept Stabler ramrod straight and still at the news. His mental state was another story.

_Five days' vacation? That's it? That's nothing compare to thirty days' suspension without pay for each charge… or termination—no job, no benefits, no pension…._

His gaze bore into the commissioner

_But someone has to pay for this… did you terminate everyone else and keep me around as an example? _

"Detective, do you have any questions?"

"Sir," Elliot swallowed hard then said, "given the allegations against me, that seems—"

"—ridiculously inadequate?" Balzano finished Stabler's question for him.

"Yes, sir."

"We have our reasons," Balzano replied, "let's leave it at that—and, before you die of curiosity, Sgt. Tucker and your fellow detectives received penalties in line with your own."

_Everybody got off light… but he didn't mention Cap… they're going to dump it all on him… and I can't stop it… but I have to try…._

"Sir, " he addressed the commissioner, "Captain Cragen—"

"—is not your concern." Richardson told him. "Do you have any other questions?"

_If you're not going let me help Cap, maybe you'll tell me how close we came to avoiding this…._

"Sir, when you came to Captain Cragen's office last night, did you know what was happening?"

A smile spread across the commissioner's face.

"Good question, Detective. Yes, I had a good idea of what Sullivan was up to."

"May I asked how you knew?"

Chief Conrad answered him. "Lt. Saunders came to me and said that he was getting pressure from Sullivan to name Sgt. Tucker as Lau's shooter. He said that Captain Cragen had asked if he would report that fact to the commissioner. According to Saunders, Duty Chief Verbeck also told Cragen than she had been leaned on by Sullivan, but she had denied talking to Cragen when Saunders asked her about it. Saunders didn't think your captain would lie to him about Verbeck, but he didn't want to be the only one speaking against the Chief of Department. That's when he came to me for advice.

"When I got back to my office, I found several messages from Captain Cragen, none of which had been forwarded to me. Between Sullivan suspending you and Tutuola, Saunders' story, and the calls that I should have gotten, I had enough to take to Commissioner Richardson.

_Damn… if one of Cap's calls had reached Conrad, everything would have been different…._

"Anything else, Detective?"

_How about you don't fire Cap?… I can't imagine SVU with a different jefe…._

"No, sir."

"Then you're cleared to return to duty and you are dismissed."

Elliot faced left and departed the interview room. As soon as the door closed behind him, he turned around and punched it, his fist stopping a scant inch from the wood.

_I'm in the clear on this… except for the vacation days… can't afford a vacation now anyway... but if they aren't making an example of me or John or Fin or Judith, then that leaves Cap taking it… and that's just wrong…._

He paced the length of the room and back again.

Might as well wait… find out what happens to Cap…. 

Back in Interview Two, Donald Cragen stood back straight with cast and uninjured arm at his sides before Richardson, Balzano, and Conrad. Richardson was reading the list of allegations; his monotone recitation and studiously blank expression told Cragen nothing. Chief Conrad at the other end of the table also gave nothing away. Between them, Balzano's tight lips and hate-filled glare made up for their lack of tells.

_Balzano started as a street cop the year after me... he'd cut off his own balls before betraying another cop, even a crooked one… back when it happened, Balzano let me know that I deserved a beat-down for what I did to Chief O'Farrell... now with me helping IAB catch Wilkerson and me bringing down Tommy... he's probably picked the street lamp and bought the rope.…_

"...finally, it is alleged that you used your command of the Special Victims Unit to damage the reputation of the New York Police Department and that of its officers."

_What the hell? I've got the best close rate of all the SV units… Conrad, you said just a few weeks ago we were doing a great job… how can I be damaging the department's reputation? You're trying to drown me in charges… why not add in screwing the commissioner's cat while you're at it?_

"Captain, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

_Why bother? You're already penalized my people… I had no chance to speak up for them… I'm not going to beg for myself… just tell me if I get my pension or not..._

"No, sir. I told my side of it last night."

"That you did."

Richardson read from the topmost sheet in Cragen's folder.

"The allegation that you disobeyed a direct order has been determined to be unfounded. The orders given you by Chief Sullivan were not in accordance with regulations and they did not require your obedience. A letter stating such will be placed in your jacket."

_That was the easy one…._

"The allegation that you undermined the authority of a superior has been sustained, but you are exonerated of this charge. A letter stating such will be placed in your jacket."

_I don't agree… Tommy undermined his own authority… I tried to salvage things… not that it matters…._

Richardson set that sheet aside and picked up the next one.

"The allegation that you coerced personnel under your command to disobey Chief Sullivan and others in command is unfounded. The detectives of your unit who were involved with Operation Chestnut acted of their own free will when they opposed the Chief of Department and any charges stemming from their opposition have been decided. A letter stating this will be placed in your jacket."

_Right—I didn't force anyone… but I'm glad they stood with me… and I'm damn sorry that it hurt them …._

Richardson took up the next sheet in the folder.

The allegation that you obstructed an ongoing investigation is sustained, but you are exonerated. Your actions served to counter actions of Chief Sullivan that also were against regulations. A letter explaining this will be placed in your jacket."

_You bet I obstructed Tommy... wanted to put my fist through that smirk of his... hardest thing was acting beaten so he'd keep talking for the tape..._

Richardson picked up the last piece of paper in the folder.

"The allegation that you used your command to damage the reputation of the New York Police Department and that of its officers is unfounded. A letter stating this will be placed in your jacket."

Richardson took up the stack of papers, put them in the folder and closed it. Cragen stared at the folder and blinked.

_Unfounded and exonerated... I've been cleared... I'm leaving here with my ass intact... and with everyone knowing that I brought down two chiefs.…_

"Captain, do you have any questions?"

Cragen did not hesitate. "What about my people?"

"No terminations or suspensions. Two were penalized vacation days, one received a reprimand."

Everyone got off easy... what gives? 

Richardson spoke over Cragen's amazement.

"From what I've seen and learned about you, Captain, you are exactly what One Police Plaza needs. However, given the O'Farrell matter and now this mess with Sullivan, too many people believe you aren't 'blue' enough."

He glanced at Deputy Commissioner Balzano, who noticed and throttled back the sneer he was giving Cragen.

"That's something in our culture that needs to change, but I doubt it will happen soon enough for your advancement in rank and I truly regret that."

The commissioner stood up, an action duplicated by Balzano.

"Captain," he said, "I hope next time is a happier occasion."

He left through the door to the main hall, followed by the deputy commissioner, who shot Cragen one last angry glare. Chief Conrad stayed behind to gather the folders into his briefcase.

Cragen was about to ask if he were dismissed when the chief spoke.

"Richardson is right, Don. What happened to you is a damn shame. You tried to inform me and the messages just never caught up to me."

Cragen sighed.

"If they had, Tommy would have leaned on you like he was leaning on everyone else."

"True, but I wouldn't have caved like Sally did. She's going to lose rank over that decision."

_Ask if I care..._

"Richardson's right," Conrad said as he closed his briefcase. "The department would be a better place if we had people like you instead of Balzano with us."

_That doesn't put stars on my collar..._

"Thanks, sir. I appreciate that."

Conrad took his briefcase and left. Cragen did the same through the other door. As he stepped into the observation area, Elliot jumped up from his chair.

"Captain?"

_As much as I want to make chief, 'Captain' sounds a hell of a lot better than 'unemployed'..._

"Yes, Detective?"

The grin on Stabler's face showed he was thinking the same thought about his rank. The grin vanished as he asked, "What about Fin and—"

"Everyone's cleared to return to duty."

Elliot shook his head at the unexpected news.

"That doesn't make sense," he said, "I don't understand why—"

"—we're so happy to be stuck in the most depressing unit in the department?" Cragen completed Stabler's sentence. "Just accept it Elliot. We'll get the brown end of the stick soon enough."


	19. Getting Past the Damage

15 June  
SVU Squad Room  
9:15 a.m.

One day had passed since Commissioner Richardson had pronounced everyone cleared to return to duty. It was their turn to pull a double shift, taking that day's eight-to-four shift then working the four-to-midnight shift for the next month.

Judith sat at her desk noting the team's preferences for muffins on a scrap pad.

"Cranberry walnut, date and nut, raisin, banana nut, chocolate, and lettuce walnut—"

Couch turned away from his computer screen.

"Lettuce?" he asked. "Those green muffins have lettuce in them?"

"Of course. It serves the same purpose as the fruits I add—flavoring and moisture. You can put anything edible in a muffin: cheese, herbs, shredded vegetables... I could even swap the oil in the recipe for mayonnaise, if you wanted."

Couch was considering that one when Elliot handed him a slip of paper.

"I'm afraid this looks familiar. Rape victim was found unconscious in her apartment by a neighbor who heard her dog scratching to go out. Perp reached her apartment via a fire escape and jimmied the window locks."

Couch looked at the address.

"Sickles Avenue—that's south of Dykeman. You thinking this is the guy I talked to you about in April?"

Elliot's grim frown answered the question. "Looks like he finally hit the big time," he told Couch. "You wanted to work it so he's all yours."

The second the door swung shut behind the departing Otten and Sofarelli, Olivia tapped her fingernail on the side of Elliot's computer screen.

"You're giving away cases now?" she asked him.

Elliot put his coffee down to stare at her.

"Cap said for Couch to handle that case if it came to us. Why"

Olivia shook her head. "I'm just wondering if they're okay working together."

"Why not? They've been here almost two months."

She glared at him, hoping he would realize that he had missed her meaning. When Elliot failed to catch on, she said, "That's not what I meant. Judith was a basket case over shooting Lau and Couch is still green. After everything that's happened, I'm not sure they're going to function as partners."

"Well, Cragen wants me to decide who does what with who."

"Whom," Munch called out, a reflex action since his attention remained focused on the DD-5 he was completing.

"Whom," Elliot echoed. "Judith's done undercover before. I talked with her and she's seeing a counselor about the shooting. Couch's got a level head and I spoke to him last night about handling this…."

His voice trailed off. "You seeing something I'm missing?"

Olivia hesitated before answering.

_Maybe I'm borrowing trouble… I know that I was still pretty shaky after two months here… Judith and Couch might break like Cassidy or go cold and abrasive like Geiger at Brooklyn SVU… if they end up like Geiger, Cragen will boot them out of here so hard that they'll land in Queens…._

"I was thinking," she said. "If this had happened with you and me when I first got here, I'd have trouble getting over it."

Elliot leaned back, his head tipped to his right, his eyes wide with surprise.

"You mean if I had an affair with Cap, you'd never forgive me?"

Her brain conjured up the mental image of Elliot and Cragen entwined at the outdoor table at Sienna's. She squeezed her eyes shut to make it go away then opened them to see her partner grinning at her.

"Wouldn't want it as my screensaver, either," he said. He held the lopsided grin a moment longer before turning serious.

"Couch and Judith either will make it or they won't. Nothing you and I can do will change that. We can help them, but we can't make them be partners. That's their job."

"You worried about them?"

Elliot glanced around before answering in a low voice.

"Damn right I am. I think Judith is too stubborn to ask us for help and I know Couch is too polite. They were still in the honeymoon phase, both with being partners and with the cases here. Toss in a week's worth of lying to each other and add Judith's shooting Lau—I think Couch will be okay, but we don't know her well enough to guess how she'll react."

"Could be any PTSD symptom," Olivia said, ticking them off on her fingers. "Depression, rage, numbness, irritability, cynicism, paranoia—although I doubt she'd pick a symptom John already has—"

Elliot snorted at her joke.

"—violence, alcoholism, risk-taking…."

"Sounds like we need a betting pool," Munch called from his desk. "By the way, I heard your remark and I resent it."

"Resemble it," Fin corrected. "And what you're saying about Judith goes for Cap'n."

Olivia jerked around to face Fin. Behind her, Elliot sat up and paid attention. Munch put down his notepad to peer at his partner.

_You three think Cap'n is superhuman? Damn... didn't expect that…._

"You took the same training I did," Fin told them. "We all have the stress, but he got threatened, beat up, almost taken hostage, got his arm broke, then his friend turns on him and tries to ruin his life. 'Intentional life-threatening violence by another person' and 'life-threatening trauma caused by betrayal by a trusted individual' are two triggers and Cap'n went through both, one on top of the other."

Fin waited for the light to dawn. All three detectives glanced at Cragen's office, where they could see him bent over his paperwork. All three considered the notion then rejected it, Elliot with a snort, Olivia with a frown at Fin and a shake of her head, Munch with a condescending eyebrow raised at his partner.

Fin let them turn back to their work with only a tight grimace to signal his disappointment.

_We need to believe that our commander is infallible, that the man who orders us into danger can't be wrong… but we also gotta remember that he is human and can break just like we can… if we don't, then no one has his back for him…._

Fin glanced at symptoms listed on the police officers and PTSD website that he had opened before Olivia and Elliot started their conversation. He then switched back to the NYPD's main page.

_You worry about Judith… I'm gonna watch Cap'n…._

15 June  
Sixteenth Precinct

Couch gave Judith the case background on their way to the motor pool.

"We had a series of break-ins around Dykeman," he said. "Perp started by stealing panties along with the small valuables then he began to masturbate into their underwear drawers. In April, he started breaking into occupied apartments and jerk—masturbating while the occupants were asleep."

"I've heard the phrase 'jerk off' before," Judith told him.

"Well, okay—that's where it stood when I left Robbery—almost an SVU case."

"Now he's ours," she said. "Don't worry; we'll get him."

The flatness of her voice surprised him so much that he took a closer look at his partner.

_Everything's in place—gear, earrings, hair thingies holding that braidy knot she uses in her hair, but she looks tired... Elliot said last night that I'd have to make the first move… said Judith would feel too awkward after all the name-calling to ask for my help even if she needed it… wonder if she's seeing the department's shrinks... if anyone mentioned her falling apart two nights ago, someone probably ordered her to..._

After Couch checked out a black Taurus and they were heading north, he asked her about counseling. Judith leaned back against the headrest and watched a city block go by before answering.

"It was suggested," Judith told him. "I'm more comfortable with my uncle."

"Because he was a cop? Because he's family?"

She nodded. "There's a big difference between a leather chair in some office and the overstuffed sofa in his living room. Besides, Aunt Deb provides beer and sandwiches. I went over last night and we talked it all out."

"Will talking to him make the brass happy?"

"It should. One of the nice things about having decades on the job is that most people assume you know what you're doing."

Her raised eyebrows drove the point home to him.

_I'm not second-guessing her… I can't imagine shooting someone, let alone one of us… was Lau a cop or a perp to her and does it make a difference?_

He waited until they had stopped for a light before asking.

"At the warehouse," she told him, "Lau was a perp. "I didn't think of him as a cop except to remember he had the same skills that I have. He stayed a perp through the shooting review and D.A. Martinez' questions. Later, up in the observation room, I started thinking that, if Lau had been shot in an alley the day before, he would have been a good cop killed in the line of duty. His family, his fellow officers, his friends would mourn him with full departmental honors. Now, he gets nothing but the memory of him being dirty."

She paused a moment then said, "It's fitting. He's getting exactly what Officers Delgado and Henry didn't deserve, but received thanks to the way he killed them."

"You going to their memorial services?"

"Yes. They were unfairly dishonored. Granted, they were breaking the regs, but that shouldn't have gotten them killed."

"How about Lau's?"

Her sideways stare of disbelief at his question answered it.

_I'm just trying to be supportive…._

"Okay, stupid question," he admitted. "I guess his family and friends wouldn't like it."

"No, they probably wouldn't."

The note of regret in her voice made him wonder if she might drop by the funeral home anyway or maybe visit his grave at a later date.

_I can picture her needing to say "I'm sorry it worked out this way"... her spring is wound by a strong sense of duty.…_

Couch kept an eye on his partner as he drove. He had to look hard to see the signs, but she was definitely more than just tired.

_Slightly off-center in the passenger seat, hands clasped on her right leg... furthest from me… back very straight, not a glance in my directions… I'm not comfortable about this, either… last time we worked a scene, I had to pretend I hated her… the day before that, I really hated her..._

He spotted an empty loading space and pulled into it

_Might as well ask and get it over with…._

"Are we going to be able to work together?"

Judith stared at the car parked in front of them and swallowed hard.

"I'd like to. You tell me."

Couch shifted in his seat to face her.

"Okay. You already know that most of what we said and did to you was faked. Instead of blowing your operation, we decided to act like you really were…."

He hesitated and she finished his sentence.

"…screwing our captain."

Couch winced. "Yep. So I understand why things are strained between us. I hated you when I thought it was real and then I had to pretend to hate you when I knew it wasn't real. I can't imagine what it was like to be suspected of having an affair and being a rat—"

"I can arrange it, if you want. Call it a learning experience."

The corner of her mouth curved up slightly.

_She's making a joke… better laugh…._

He chuckled then said, "No, thanks. Some things are best experienced secondhand."

"That is the truth," she said with a sigh.

The silence thickened as the seconds passed. Judith glanced his way twice and, from the way her lips twitched, he could tell that she was deciding what to say next.

"I should tell you," she finally said, "that I appreciate your covering for us—yes, even though it wasn't much fun. I also appreciate what you did for me in the observation room. I don't usually fall apart like that."

"It hit you hard."

She nodded. "Uncle Bob warned me last night that this would bring up old memories. I'll have to lay them to rest all over again."

Couch noted how her jaw tightened when she stopped speaking.

_Someone said she'd shot a perp as a beat cop… I know funerals remind me of other family members I've lost… got to be the same with her… a lot like grieving all over again…._

"What can I do?" he asked.

The tightness in her jaw and spine loosened, For the first time in days, she looked almost comfortable with his presence.

"Think you can find some slack to cut me?" she asked.

"Sure. That's easy. Think you can forgive the things I said about you and the captain?"

She nodded. "Nothing you said was out of line, considering the circumstances."

Couch noted her emphasis on the "you" as he shifted into "drive" and pulled back onto the street.

_Someone said something out of line… had to be John… think he'd be old enough to know better…._

"I'm good for a beer after shift," he offered. "We could talk more, if you're interested."

It took only a second before she smiled at him.

"Yes, I am," she said. "A beer with my partner sounds like a good thing."

15 June  
Office of Captain Cragen  
1:38 p.m.

Bureau Chief Beale was sitting across from Cragen, his fingers interlaced across his belly, his smile wide and beguiling.

"Of course you owe me dinner, Don. I caught your insinuation to Richardson that the D.A. was the reason you were wearing that wire. I made certain that Arthur Branch knew about it before Casey and I brought the tape recording to the commissioner. I covered for you—the least you can do is feed me."

Cragen nodded.

"I can't argue that one," he said. "I threw out the hint and you ran with it. What restaurant?"

Beale shifted his gaze heavenward and sighed.

"Breslau. I'm in love with his rack of lamb, but you should try his Kobe beef with celery purée and horseradish."

Cragen quickly ran though everything he knew about the place.

_Yikes… he's talking a couple hundred for dinner and he's not the domestic beer type… add another hundred…._

"Y'know, there's a neighborhood Italian place not that far from—"

Beale's look of abject pity stopped Cragen's protest.

"Don, you really have to start thinking like brass if you want to be brass."

Cragen shifted his gaze to his door, letting it linger on the name and rank painted there.

"I am brass."

"I mean real brass, the type that wears gold stars."

Cragen answered with a derisive snort.

"In case you hadn't heard, Beale—I'm not 'blue' enough. My career will end as a captain right here in this office."

Beale leaned forward.

"What I heard," he said, "is that Tim Richardson would rather be surrounded by people like you than the Tony Balzanos of the world. What about it, Don? Can you picture yourself as second-in-command of the entire police force?"

Cragen shook his head.

"You're nuts. I'm too old and I've made too many enemies."

Beale extended his index finger and pointed it at Cragen.

"But you also impressed Richardson. Having him on your side will trump all those enemies."

The bureau chief braced both hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet.

"Don, the only difference between you and Balzano is that he acts like the Deputy Commissioner and you act like a captain. It's all a matter of attitude, bearing, presentation. Act like you deserve the position and the position will be yours."

He rapped his knuckles on Cragen's desktop.

"I'll make reservations for Wednesday. You think about what I said."

Cragen watched him make his way across the squad room. He greeted Elliot, Olivia, and Fin, shook his head at Munch…

_Probably called him a fruitcake again…._

…walked passed Judith and Couch's empty desks and departed through the rear doors.

_I don't have to think about it… the idea is nuts… but…._

He leaned back, resting his cast on his lap, and fixed his gaze on the ceiling.

_It wouldn't hurt to get active in the CEA again… show up for some Emerald Society meetings… I got out of the habit after Marge passed on then used the caseload here as my excuse… also wouldn't hurt to get out on the golf course… lots of opportunity for networking in a foursome… what am I thinking? The whole idea is nuts…._

Cragen sat up in his chair and put his attention to the reports before him.

_But…._

His focus shifted to the golf bag stashed in the corner of his office.

_Haven't touched those clubs in months… and it will be another four weeks before I can play… but nothing wrong with arranging a July golf date now…. _

Three phones call later, Cragen had a tee time and a foursome made up of two other captains and Inspector Lee Kidman of ESU, all men who had been through the Academy with him. He noted the date and time in his daybook while smiling at what Beale's crazy idea had prompted him to do.

15 June  
Main Entrance of the Sixteenth Precinct  
5:15 p.m.

Munch and Fin were back from reinterviewing the only witness to an attempted rape that was rapidly going cold. The effort had gleaned a fresh detail for the suspect's description—the man definitely wore his thick brown hair parted on the left.

"And we drove to Jersey City just for that."

John ignored his partner's grousing and pointed north-northeast.

"Yesterday at this time," he said, "I was home with my gear put away, Etta James coming through the speakers..."

Fin eyed him sourly. "I was still in traffic."

"...a glass of Bordeaux in my hand, my feet up on the coffee table, shoes and socks scattered to the wind..."

"Don't make me think about your pasty white feet."

"...my only concern whether to order Thai take-out or maybe Greek..."

"You were home 'cause I drove two hundred and sixty blocks out of my way to take you there."

Munch peered at his partner.

"Would you subject me to the hassles and turmoil of the subway? I might fall or get mugged or ..."

"Just draw your weapon and shout, 'I'm a scrawny old fart with a gun.' Ain't no one gonna give you trouble after that."

John stopped walking and gazed skyward. His left hand reached up to brush the center of the bruise coloring his face. Fin slouched against the stone of the precinct house, his arms folded, and watched as John continued to stand on the sidewalk, his lips pursed, his attention somewhere else.

_That bruise is starting to go Technicolor... getting more yellow than purple around the edges... least he's not as stiff as he was yesterday..._

Finally, Munch spoke.

"You really told Chief Sullivan you'd never lie to me?"

Fin raised his head and stared at his partner.

You're blocking traffic to wonder about that? 

"I told him I don't lie to my partner," he replied. "Told Cap'n any order telling me to do so was bullshit."

Munch stared at him, dark lenses hiding his eyes. Only the slight twist upward at the corner of his mouth marked his reaction to Fin's statement.

"Thanks, Fin."

With that, Munch spun around and entered the building. He gave the door a extra shove as he passed through it, giving Fin time to grab it before it closed.

He caught up to John at Sgt. Neville's desk.

"Got that security tape duped for you, Munch," the desk sergeant announced as she held out a DVD in a jewel case. "It's been a popular item."

"Really?"

"Yep. I had to make copies for you, Sofarelli, the D.A.'s office, Chief Conrad, Lt. Cutler's attorney, Bureau Chief Beale, and Commissioner Richardson."

She leaned over her desk and said, "Cutler and Sloane are classic HQ assholes. Good for you."

Fin watched his partner straighten to his full height, jut out his jaw, and thank Neville in a voice two notes deeper than normal.

Almost expect him to shout "Up, Up and Away!" then leap a tall building….   
In the elevator, Fin broached the subject.   
"I ain't wearing the sidekick outfit while you play hero over Cutler." 

John's lips drew together, a sign he was preparing a sharp reply. Fin braced himself for the retort.

"After Cutler slugged me," Munch said, "for telling everyone what an impotent loser he was, I had what we needed. I could have stayed down and let Couch finish it up."

The hero façade crumbled while he spoke. For a moment, there were no pretenses, no bravado, only John Munch, knocked to the ground by a man half his age.

Fin saw anger flush his partner's face.

"But I was murder police in a city where the crime rate makes New York look like a backwater burg. I'm been SVU longer than everyone except Cragen, Howie and Elliot. I am not too old. I am not too feeble. I am not past tense and I got off the floor and I damn well proved it."

He spoke in low tones but the force behind the words drove Fin against the elevator door. When it opened, he backed through them into the hall, uncertain as to what his partner would do next.

_He's pissed at someone... Cutler? Maybe Sullivan... my rep said he called John 'elderly'..._

Munch left the elevator and stood before Fin. His gaze burned through the darkened lenses and his voice shook as he spoke.

"I'm a cop," he said, "and I'm going to be a cop until I'm ready to stop being a cop. No one will make that decision for me."

He turned on his heel. Fin watched him walk toward the SVU squad room, so intent in his anger that people had to scurry out of his way.

_Guess I should watch him, too…._

15 June  
SVU Squad Room  
6:27 p.m.

_Spear it with my fork and hope it doesn't squirt when I bite down or play it safe and cut it in half first?_

Olivia was eyeing the cherry tomato nestled in her salad when Cragen stopped by Elliot's desk. Her partner turned away from his computer and raised an eyebrow at the captain. Behind her, the paper shuffling that was Fin and Munch sorting crime scene photos ceased so they could listen in.

"I just heard from Jack McCoy's office," Cragen told them. "Wilkerson copped to murder two, six counts of extortion, two counts of attempted extortion, and one of aggravated assault on a police officer."

"She had to," Elliot replied. "Eristoff rolled on her the second the anesthesia wore off."

Cragen shook his head. "She was holding out for Chief deMichelis to approve her plan to levy fines for affairs in exchange for a plea. McCoy talked her into admitting that she ordered the murders and ran the extortion ring. In return, deMichelis would review her 'findings' and report his opinion to Commissioner Richardson."

"But the chief rat resigned this afternoon," Munch chimed in.

"Fifteen minutes after she signed the papers," Cragen said. "deMichelis will file her findings in the appropriate metal container and his replacement will never see them."

Olivia chuckled while her partner turned to Fin to share a victorious gloating smile.

Munch said, "We nail them and the D.A.'s office glues the cell door shut. It's great when it all comes together like that."

Cragen glanced at the two empty desks to his right.

"Judith and Couch canvassing?"

"Yeah—trying to catch people at home after work," Elliot answered.

"Good. Come into my office, Elliot. I need to discuss something with you."

Elliot noticed, as he followed Cragen into his office, that no one bothered to watch him go.

_Shows how fast things get back to normal around here…._

Once inside, Cragen signaled Elliot to shut the door. He sat on his desk, cast resting on his thigh, his position casual, his expression serious.

"I overheard Fin talking about a blooper tape," he said. "I hope he wasn't referring to anything from Operation Chestnut."

Elliot quickly ran through the possibilities.

_Judith and Cap pretending to be love-sick teenagers… Judith's concern as she tried to find something kosher to eat at the Italian place—I should have remembered that… both their expressions when Tucker caught his hand in the van door and his cursing came through Judith's earpiece so loud the next table heard it… even if we leave the faked sex out, there's plenty to laugh at…._

"Let me guess, Cap. 'No' on the blooper tape."

"You got it. I'm happy letting the evidence be sealed then handed over for Pearson Place to lose. If I never hear about this again, it will be too soon."

His gaze bore into Elliot's face.

"But that's not why I want to talk to you, Elliot. We need to talk about your ability to follow my orders. You seem to have lost it."

Stabler gaped at Cragen, whose stern glare pinned him without hope of escape.

_What? Which order? I already lost five vacation days… now what?_

"Which order, Captain?"

"The one Sullivan gave all of us about not letting any information leak to your partners. The one Fin correctly called a 'bullshit order'. The one I explicitly told you to obey the night John and Couch spotted us. The one you must have forgotten since Olivia, Couch, and John found out about this operation the very next morning."

Elliot rocked back on his heels.

_Oh, that order…._

He drew in a breath, using the time to prepare his defense. Cragen spoke first.

"I don't want to hear how you did it to protect Judith. I expect a detective who has worked undercover with Vice and Organized Crime to handle any assignment. She doesn't need you coddling her."

"Cap, if word got out Judith was a rat…."

"She would have coped, just like she and I did when word of our 'affair' got out."

Cragen picked up a pen, tapped his cast with it, then tossed it back on his desk.

"What if everyone guessed wrong on the first try? Would you have given them more hints and chances until they finally got it right?"

Elliot felt his ears and neck grow warm,

_I was certain Liv would get it and she did... but Cap's right... their next guess could have been even farther off the mark. God knows what else John might think up..._

"I need to know," Cragen said, "that you will obey an order—any order—without the second-guessing and weaseling that you showed on this one. Can you?"

"Yes, sir. I regret what happ—"

Cragen dismissed the apology with a flat, angry glare.

"I don't want to hear it," he said. "First, you disobey my orders and then you actually believe I'd sell you out to Tommy Sullivan. If that's the kind of respect you got for me, maybe I need a new lead detective."

His captain's angry words flowed over Elliot...

_After the past few days, I can't blame him for dumping on me..._

...but the last four words were like a knife in his stomach. Only the muscle memory of his parade ground training kept him at attention.

_I thought he had caved in... now I've lost his trust..._

"Don't worry," Cragen said, his glare still boring into Stabler. "I know Munch is next in seniority here. As unhappy as I am with you, I'd be more unhappy with him. Get back to work."

Cragen got up, turning his back on Elliot, and took his seat behind his desk. He pulled a spreadsheet off a stack of printouts and began to read. Stabler noted the way the captain's jaw muscles were knotted and decided a quick, quiet retreat was the only smart course of action.

15 June  
Office of Captain Cragen  
9:38 p.m.

Cragen stared at the crime statistics spreadsheet that was failing to hold his attention.

_I hate shift change... I feel obligated to work all sixteen hours since my people have to... wonder if they bother to notice..._

The long day had one benefit; it had given him plenty of time to observe his detectives and their interactions after the Operation Chestnut fiasco.

_Fred, and Tammy pumping Fin for info… he's been here six years—they should know better… Munch showing off his war wound—and getting testy about it by supper time… I felt the same when Chloe asked if I needed help carrying my coffee… it's a broken bone in my wrist, not an amputation… Judith apologizing to Olivia for lying… must be _Mechilah_, the act of asking pardon from those you have wronged before asking forgiveness from God… wonder where I learned that word… Couch and Judith leaving this morning like strangers and coming back talking to each other… which is good, but I still need to keep an eye on them…._

One interaction that midafternoon troubled him. He had come out of the men's room to see John and Judith attempting to stare down each other outside the observation room. As soon as they spotted him, both detectives turned and left, John brushing past Cragen for the restroom, Judith heading back to her desk.

_I couldn't tell who or what started it… I know she was upset by one of John's cracks about the faked affair… now that she knows he knew the truth, this should smooth over… if it doesn't, I'll have to step in…_

"Sir?"

Judith Otten stood in the office's open doorway. A sheaf of paper filled her right hand and a cautious smile brightened her face.

"Would you sign these?"

She held up the papers. From the color and size, Cragen recognized them as expense and OT forms.

"Sure," he said, "but it may be weeks before we see any money from them."

She looked puzzled then the smile sagged into a frown.

"That's right. With Sullivan and deMichelis gone, no one owns the operation."

Cragen reached for the stack of forms and shuffled through them.

"Look at the bright side," he told her. "There's no need for a close-out report—no critiques of our performance, no discussion on how to make it more convincing next time."

She chuckled nervously. "Good. That part was embarrassing."

Her emphasis on "that part" surprised him.

_Wrong… all of it was embarrassing… being recorded the whole time… people listening to every word we said… what we had to do…._

A memory popped into his head—Judith holding his hand at Sienna's, her eyes wide with interest, her mouth curving into a grin as she began to laugh at a story he was telling.

_Okay… some parts were fun… she seemed to like my company… maybe she and I could—no, don't go there… don't even think about it… captain, detective… IAB is probably double-teaming us right now… just in case…._

He brought himself back from his thoughts to see Judith staring at him with concern.

"Do you remember that annual banquet we attended?" she asked, "David and I, you and Marge?"

The abrupt change of topic threw him. It took a moment to dredge up the scene.

"I remember your husband and me coming back to the table to find Marge spitting mad and Gladys Forrester demanding to be taken home. That banquet?"

Judith nodded "That one. Did your wife ever tell you what happened?"

Cragen considered the question. "No. I asked on the way home and she wouldn't tell me."

Judith bit hard into her lower lip and blinked.

"I guess I can tell you."

She sat down and folded her hands on the edge of his desk.

"I hated those banquets. I'd rather be talking shop, but I was there as a spouse so I stayed at the table while David and you and Gil Forrester and the Captains Johansson got up to shake hands and kiss rings. Gladys immediately started a long story about her youngest son making the JV football team.

"Neither your wife nor I paid any attention. I could tell from Marge's smile that she was doing the same thing I was—watching her husband work the room, all handsome in his uniform, feeling very happy that he was hers."

Judith paused. Her focus shifted and she smiled as she remembered David. For a moment, he saw Marge before him, her eyes just as bright, the same proud grin on her face.

"Gladys must have realized we weren't listening," Judith continued. "She tapped on her wine glass to get Marge's attention then said, 'AA hasn't helped if you have to watch him like that. I guess once a drunk, always a drunk.'"

The words shattered the warmth brought by thoughts of his wife. Cragen rocked back, stunned by how sharp something said ten years ago still felt.

"I was aghast," Judith said, "and it caught Marge off-guard, but she didn't hesitate a second. She stared right at Gladys and said, 'I'm not keeping tabs on Donnie. I'm lusting after the handsomest man here.' Then, she turned and started talking to me. That's what made Gladys so angry—Marge shut her down then ignored her. It was rude, but so was she."

Cragen shook his head. "I never knew that."

"Well, your wife—"

"Excuse me, Captain. Judith?"

Couch stood at the door, a slip of paper in his hand.

"Got a tip on our rapist," he said. "Someone spotted a man on a fire escape on Nagle trying windows."

Judith stood up. With a nod to Cragen, she left with her partner. Cragen leaned back in his chair and considered Marge's words.

_Wow… ten years later, I find out what happened…. handsomest man…._

Outside his office, Judith snatched her jacket from the back of her chair and followed Couch out the door. Fin and John ran through men with thick brown hair with sex crimes on their records while Elliot and Olivia discussed a case in Florida where foster parents were keeping their kids in cages. Around them, the other members of the SVU team: staff, uniformed officers, and detectives went about their business.

_Two more hours and we can go home… just another day on the job…._


End file.
